


The Hawk Killer

by glitterburn (orphan_account)



Category: Onmyouji | The Yin-Yang Master (Movies)
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-15
Updated: 2011-05-15
Packaged: 2017-10-19 10:22:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 31,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/199803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/glitterburn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Impoverished provincial nobleman Minamoto no Hiromasa arrives in Heian-Kyo to restore his family’s pride, but meets with resistance at every turn until the eccentric and wealthy Lord Seimei offers to take Hiromasa under his wing. As Hiromasa’s fortunes rise, his cousin Lord Tonaga begins to take an interest in his fate. Seimei’s association with Former Emperor Yozei makes him an unfit companion, but when Hiromasa is framed for the destruction of the imperial hawks, Seimei is the only one who can save him...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Back in February, [following a discussion about the essential wrongness of the NHK _Onmyouji_ TV series](http://glitterburn.livejournal.com/117356.html?thread=1719660#t1719660), in which Hiromasa looks old enough to be Seimei’s father, rheasilvia suggested an AU in which Hiromasa is a penniless nobleman trying to make his name at court and in which Seimei is his wealthy patron. Here it is.

Hiromasa trudged along Nishiki Road East, placing his bare feet carefully. A light rain had fallen overnight, enough to dampen the surface of the roads to sliding mud. It made walking a dangerous affair, especially in cheap wooden and plaited straw sandals. Particularly when the straw had gone rotten. After he’d slipped over twice, Hiromasa had given up on the sandals and took to carrying them in one hand. It made him look more like a peasant than a nobleman, but following several unproductive and unpleasant meetings with members of his family over the last few days, Hiromasa had begun to wonder if he wouldn’t be happier living as a peasant rather than trying to claim his birthright.

But his mother had insisted upon it, and Hiromasa had made a promise, and now she was dead and here he was in the capital, not quite regretting the promise but uncertain as to how to fulfil it.

Ahead, an ox-cart waited at the junction with Madeno Road. Hiromasa glanced at the handler, who wore the same placid expression as the beast he tended. The cart itself was undecorated, the side panels and canvas left plain. Hiromasa wondered who owned it. Perhaps someone of limited means; or maybe someone of exalted rank who wished to be discreet about his movements.

There was no other traffic on the street and no obvious reason for the cart to wait at the junction. Hiromasa gave the handler a polite nod as he passed. He shifted his broken and muddy sandals to the other hand and readjusted the biwa strapped to his back. He’d been lucky not to break it when he’d slipped earlier, so now it hung loose, bouncing across his back with every step and no doubt leaving bruises.

He’d gone scarcely five steps past the junction when the ox-cart pulled out, wheels rumbling. It drew alongside him. Hiromasa gave the handler a curious look, but the man ignored him. The ox ambled along, keeping pace with Hiromasa. It went faster when he went faster, slowed when he slowed.

Self-conscious now, Hiromasa darted surreptitious glances at the ox-cart. The small window in the side of the carriage remained shut, but nevertheless Hiromasa was convinced that the person, or persons, inside were watching him. But why would anyone be interested in him? He looked terrible, the hems and one side of his hakama covered in mud, his faded blue hunting costume worn thin at the elbows and fastened with twine rather than an elegant length of ribbon, and his lacquered hat dented and speckled with dirt. He looked barely presentable, which was perhaps why his relatives had viewed him with alarm rather than pleasure when he’d called on them.

Hiromasa stopped. The cart stopped. Hiromasa set off again. The cart followed alongside him. Hiromasa imagined himself breaking into a run. Surely he’d be faster than an ox-cart. Then he remembered the muddy road and how running would only exacerbate the jolt of the biwa against his back, and besides, the whole thing would present such a ridiculous sight...

He sighed and came to a halt facing the ox-cart. “Can I help you?”

After a pause, the cart rolled on a few paces and stopped again. A curtain at the rear was pushed aside and held back by a closed fan, and a man looked out. “How kind of you to ask, but rather _I_ wish to help _you_.”

Hiromasa looked behind him, then up and down the road, wondering if the stranger was addressing someone else. “You want to help me?”

“Indeed.” The man smiled. He looked like he smiled often, and Hiromasa felt a warmth towards him.

“Why?”

“Goodness me, a direct question—how unusual.” The smile disappeared, but it lingered in the stranger’s eyes. “You can’t have been in the capital for long, my lord. If you wish to make a name for yourself here, you must learn both a little tact and the ability to prevaricate at length.”

Hiromasa stared. “Why did you call me ‘my lord’?”

“Because although you’re dressed like a peasant, you carry your worth as easily as you carry your sandals. You are a nobleman.” The stranger leaned forward, face alight with interest. “Tell me I’m right. I am rarely wrong.”

Despite his surprise, Hiromasa laughed. “Then you don’t need me to tell you you’re right.”

The stranger wriggled like a contented cat. “I would still like to hear it.”

“Very well, you’re right. My name is Minamoto no Hiromasa. I am the son of His Excellency of War, the late Former Prince Katsuakira.” Hiromasa bowed as best he could, the biwa swinging around to thud against his ribs.

“Ah,” said the stranger. He looked at Hiromasa with greater interest, then pushed back the curtain properly and tapped his fan against the floor of the cart. The ox-handler appeared around the side of the vehicle and folded out a set of steps, then stood back, as blank-faced as before.

“Please,” said the stranger, beckoning with his fan. “Join me.”

“I...” Hiromasa wavered, tempted by the offer. “Thank you, my lord—” for a lord this man surely was, although he had not yet introduced himself, “but I fear our paths do not lead in the same direction.”

The stranger smiled again, warm and charming. “The ox will take us wherever you wish to go.”

“You must have other, more pressing business to attend to.”

“Not at all.” The stranger’s smile became a chuckle. “I am quite at leisure.”

Unable to think of another excuse, Hiromasa unslung the biwa and climbed the three steps into the carriage. He put down the instrument and knelt on the wooden floor, concerned about transferring mud onto the colourful scatter of cushions. His sandals he tucked behind him out of sight.

The ox-handler stowed the steps and drew the curtains, enclosing them in a soft half-light. A moment later, the cart lurched and began to move forward.

The stranger tossed Hiromasa a cushion. “For your knees. I apologise for the poor trappings of my ox-cart. I have not yet devised a method of providing a smoother ride.”

Hiromasa took the cushion, fingering the embroidered design of silver thread, testing the quality of the silk. He slipped it beneath his knees and stifled a sigh of relief, immediately more comfortable. Sitting back on his heels, he took a proper look at his companion.

Sharp-featured, narrow-faced, the stranger had long eyes and a straight nose and a surprisingly full lower lip that hinted at sensuality as well as amusement. He was pale—remarkably so, even for a nobleman—and his skin seemed almost to glow faintly in the dim interior of the carriage. Hiromasa assumed this to be a trick of the filtered light reflecting off the stranger’s pristine white hunting costume. The stranger was far from conforming to the accepted ideals of beauty, but nevertheless there was something about him that Hiromasa found attractive.

Maybe it was the stranger’s smile, which showed itself again. “Do I please you?”

“Ah...” Hiromasa blushed, glad of the semi-darkness. He had no idea how to respond to the teasing question. Courtiers were supposed to be accomplished flirts, but he had little experience in the art. “You look interesting.”

“Interesting.” The stranger flicked his wrist and spread his fan, then lifted it to hide his amusement. “Thank you.” His eyes danced. “May I ask where you come from, Lord Hiromasa?”

“Musashi.” Hiromasa saw no point in hiding the truth. “My father was exiled to the province about thirty years ago.”

The stranger lowered his fan again. “You were born in Musashi? Yet you don’t behave like a provincial. Your parents raised you well.”

Hiromasa dropped his gaze. “They tried. Father died when I was still a child. After his death, Mother hoped we’d be able to return to the capital, but our circumstances were poor and although she applied to her family for assistance, no one was willing to help. But she never gave up hope.”

He smiled at the memory of her, surrounded by her women, sitting straight-backed and determined even when the illness had wasted her body. “I was lucky. Mother and her ladies were very educated. They made sure I could pass as a courtly gentleman... albeit a courtly gentleman of thirty years ago.”

“Fortunately court manners do not change as often as the colour combinations of ladies’ gowns,” the stranger said. “Apart from your propensity for speaking your mind, rest assured that your behaviour is quite correct.”

“Mother would be pleased.” Hiromasa’s smile faded.

The stranger hesitated. “She has passed into the Western Paradise?”

Hiromasa nodded, a stab of grief tightening his throat. He inhaled, then blew out his breath. “Before she died, Mother made me promise to return to the capital and regain our family honour. She said since I wasn’t born until seven years after the decree of exile, why should I suffer for my father’s errors of judgement?”

He looked at the stranger and saw quiet sympathy. “I am prepared to work hard to gain recognition at court. These last few days I’ve been calling on relatives from both sides of my family, but it seems none of them want to bear the taint of associating with me.”

“Goodness,” murmured the stranger. “I have heard your father’s name, but alas, I am ignorant of the facts surrounding his exile. What did he do to deserve such lingering disgrace?”

Hiromasa started to explain, only to stop when a thought struck him. His father had annoyed many nobles before his exile. Perhaps this gentleman was one of them, or at least related to one of them. Embarrassed, Hiromasa said, “I’m sorry, I don’t even know your name.”

“Abe no Seimei.”

“Abe...” Hiromasa tried to place the family, but drew a blank.

“I doubt your father did my father any harm,” Seimei said softly.

Hiromasa started. “What—how—I mean...”

Seimei chuckled. “You really should learn to dissemble, Hiromasa. You have the most expressive face.”

A blush burned Hiromasa’s cheeks. He coughed and mumbled incoherently, gathering his thoughts. “About my father’s exile... I’m afraid I don’t know much. My parents refused to discuss it, and all I know is what I gathered from the servants. It’s something to do with a plot sponsored by the late Retired Emperor Uda—something involving Sugawara no Michizane, who—so my young and no doubt foolish father was led to believe—hadn’t died in Dazaifu but was preparing to make his triumphant return to the capital.”

“Ah.” Seimei’s eyes gleamed in the half-light. “A pretty tangle, indeed. I believe most of the records relating to that affair were destroyed on imperial orders. You would be hard pressed to find the truth now, after thirty years. Those who remember those days will certainly not speak of it.”

Hiromasa lifted his chin. “No matter what my father did, I am innocent of it. I don’t ask to be given a prince’s title and a prince’s pension. I just want to be given the opportunity to make my own way at court.”

“An opportunity the rest of your family would deny you,” Seimei said, his expression thoughtful.

“It appears so.” Hiromasa let his shoulders slump. “Without their support, I know it’ll be difficult to keep my promise to my mother. But I’m determined to find a way forward. Mother used to say out of the darkness came light. And even if my family have been slow to welcome me, other people in the capital have been very kind.”

Seimei smiled. “You are a man who inspires kindness.” He folded his fan and tapped it on the floor of the carriage. The ox-cart turned right and headed south. “Where are you staying?”

Hiromasa named an address in the fifth district in the western half of the city.

“No, no. That won’t do.” Seimei slipped the fan inside his sleeve. “A man of your rank shouldn’t sleep in such poor quarters.”

Hiromasa laughed. “I have no complaints. Besides, I can’t afford to take a house. What you see is all I possess, save for a few changes of clothes. These are my best garments—so out of date the design is almost fashionable again, or so I was informed by one of my great-aunts yesterday.”

“A man’s clothes do not matter half as much as a man’s spirit.” Seimei tilted his head, his gaze measuring and intent. “You have a flute.”

Startled, Hiromasa rocked back on his heels. “Yes.” He reached into his sleeve and took the flute from where it lay tucked inside his waist-sash. “A man gave it to me at Suzaku Gate this morning. I don’t know why. Perhaps he felt sorry for me.”

“A man.” A small smile curved Seimei’s lips. “May I?”

“Please.” Hiromasa handed over the flute and watched as Seimei studied it with the greatest of interest. “I tried a few tunes on it. The man insisted I play it before he gave it to me. It’s a fine instrument. A beautiful sound. A work of art.”

Seimei gave it back. “Its name is Ha Futatsu.”

Hiromasa frowned, puzzled. “It has a name? It... it wasn’t stolen, was it? Is that why the man gave it to me?” An unpleasant thought occurred. “Someone’s looking for it—now I’ll be suspected as a thief!”

“It is not stolen.” Seimei said, his voice soothing. “The gift was freely given.”

“How do you know?”

“I am acquainted with the... _person_ who gave it to you.” A brief smile, the glitter of something unreadable in Seimei’s eyes. “The person at Suzaku Gate is very discerning. Keep the flute, Hiromasa. Keep it and play it and take joy in its music. Ha Futatsu only sings for truly good men.”

Hiromasa clutched the flute, admiring it anew. “Ha Futatsu.” He stroked it, glad that such a fine instrument with such a beautiful voice had a name. “I will treasure it the way I treasure Genjou. My biwa,” he added when he saw Seimei’s look of enquiry. Hiromasa returned the flute to his sash then drew the biwa from its wrappings and set it between them on the floor. “Genjou belonged to my father and before him to my great-grandfather, the Retired Emperor Uda.”

Seimei leaned forward, his hands graceful over the instrument. The cherry-wood and chestnut were rich with the gloss of ten thousand polishings, but still the biwa wore its antiquity in the dozens of fine scratches to its surface. Hiromasa had replaced the twisted silken strings himself, tuning the instrument to a sweeter sound than that favoured by his father.

“Beautiful,” Seimei murmured, fingers caressing rather than plucking the strings. Notes fell, soft as rain, almost inaudible. When he looked up, Seimei’s eyes were shining. “This is a remarkable instrument.”

“Yes.” Hiromasa touched the rounded belly of the biwa with fondness. “My father’s cousin Fujiwara no Tonaga advised me to sell Genjou. He said the price I got would be enough to set myself up in the style to which I was accustomed.” Hiromasa grimaced at the memory. “I think he didn’t realise Genjou’s worth. Not that I would ever sell Genjou, you understand. I suppose Lord Tonaga was trying to be clever.”

Seimei snorted. “Lord Tonaga is an idiot.”

Hiromasa suppressed his laughter, gleefully shocked at the bluntness of the statement. “He holds a high position in the Ministry of War. Not as high as my father’s former position, but high enough.”

“Perhaps it passed you by in the provincial backwaters of Musashi,” Seimei said, his expression droll, “but the country has had at least half a dozen uprisings, two rebellions, and a falsely declared emperor in the past ten years. Does this strike you as an example of wise strategy and good management on the part of the Ministry of War?”

“When you put it in those terms...” Hiromasa chuckled, glad of this fresh perspective on his self-important cousin. “But I cannot be too harsh. Perhaps he is skilled at other things.”

“Lord Tonaga is skilled at drinking to excess and making a fool of himself by pawing at court ladies.”

Hiromasa hid appreciative laughter. “You seem to be well-informed.”

Seimei’s smile was gentle. “It is my business to be so.” He knocked on the floor of the ox-cart, and the vehicle swung left.

Sounds began to filter through the walls of the carriage: the rumble of wheels, the lowing of oxen, the clatter of horses’ hooves, and the hum of conversation. The smell of spiced soup mingled oddly with the scent of sweet rice cakes as hawkers moved past the ox-cart crying their wares. Dogs barked and children shrieked with laughter. Someone was playing a tune on a flute, accompanied by the pounding of a drum. Cheers and catcalls suggested that a girl was dancing along to the music.

“East market,” Seimei said. He knocked on the floor again, two sharp raps, and the ox-cart shuddered to a halt. The silent, blank-faced ox-handler pushed open the curtains and unfolded the steps. Seimei indicated that Hiromasa should rise. “We have reached our destination. Leave Genjou here.”

“East market?” Hiromasa echoed. He pushed his biwa to a corner of the carriage and fumbled with his muddy sandals. “Do you have business here?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Seimei hopped down from the ox-cart and smiled up at Hiromasa. “Please don’t concern yourself with those sandals. Ogita the silk merchant is very particular about his floors and his clientele. It wouldn’t do for you to make a bad impression.”

Puzzled, Hiromasa abandoned his sandals and followed Seimei barefoot. “Surely I will make a bad impression by wearing no shoes at all. And besides, why would I need the good opinion of a silk merchant?”

Seimei gave him a patient look. “Ogita serves only the highest and richest of the nobility. He may only be a merchant, but you should never underestimate what a merchant can do for you—and your reputation.”

Hiromasa pondered this wisdom as they entered the shop. Ogita hurried forward uttering cries of delighted welcome. It seemed that Seimei was a frequent visitor here. Hiromasa gazed around at bolts of silk of every type and colour, some plain, some embroidered, some printed with designs. He examined a piece of fabric patterned with dragonflies, only half listening to Seimei’s conversation.

“For my dear friend Lord Minamoto no Hiromasa,” Seimei was saying, “I think this dark green for a lined cloak. And perhaps this blue-grey figured silk, since he is still in mourning. Brighter colours, too—we will need those for later. A particular shade of lavender, more purple than red... yes, in glossed silk. Perfect. We’ll take it in damask, too. And black, of course, for formal court wear.”

Too stunned to protest, Hiromasa turned and stared at Seimei.

Ogita bowed, an unctuous smile splitting his face. He indicated a bolt of cloth. “If I may be so bold, this orange silk would suit Lord Hiromasa’s complexion.”

Seimei scarcely looked at it. “Marvellous. Wrap it. Wrap all of it and deliver it to my estate.”

Hiromasa managed a strangled squeak. “What are you doing?”

“Shopping.” Seimei seemed pleased by the prospect. “You will need court hats and caps. Boots. Shoes. Undergarments. Sashes. Fans. Ogita, my thanks for your help! Hurry, Hiromasa. We have much to do.”

“But...!” Hiromasa trailed after him, shocked and embarrassed by the promise of such extravagance. “You’re too kind to this humble person. Much too kind. Please, Lord Seimei, you must know I can’t possibly repay you!”

Seimei paused, gave him a gleaming look. “Not now, perhaps. Later you will find a way.”

Hiromasa blinked, uncertain, wondering what that could possibly mean.

“Shoes!” shouted Seimei as he crossed the busy street. “Hurry, Lord Hiromasa—you need shoes!”

Shoving aside the moment of disquiet, Hiromasa ran after Seimei.


	2. Chapter 2

Seimei’s estate lay in the north-east of the city, perched on the very edge of civilisation. The only view visible above the high walls was that of the mountains, distant smudges glimpsed now and then through a screen of flowering trees and shrubs. Hiromasa wandered through the garden with interest, finding it a charming tangle, the plants allowed to grow at whim. It made a pleasing contrast to Seimei’s own immaculate grooming, and Hiromasa was reminded of his mother’s garden in Musashi. She had enjoyed tending her flowers, but they grew within certain limits, constrained by appropriate colour palate and season. He preferred the unrestrained wildness of Seimei’s garden, with its unfashionable shape and riots of colour and scent.

The house, like the garden, was of unusual shape. Rather than a long hall with enclosing wings on either side, the house ran in a zigzag, with Seimei’s study overlooking the garden and the rest of the halls and rooms tucked away, joined by galleries and bridgeways and arranged around smaller, though no less informal, gardens.

It seemed to be a residence of some antiquity. Hiromasa admired the elaborate interlock of the beams and the roof of blue-glazed tiles. Blinds of green bamboo covered the entrances. Bronze lamps swayed in a gentle breeze. Inside, embroidered standing curtains and painted folding screens hinted at wealth and taste.

A woman approached them along a gallery. Dressed in the most exquisite layered robes and with her hair trailing along the floor, she was a vision of beauty. The lady smiled at him, not bothering to hide her features behind a fan. Dazzled, Hiromasa hesitated, glancing at Seimei. Surely this lady was a wife or concubine? But Seimei passed her with a mere nod, leaving Hiromasa stunned.

He bowed to the woman, then hurried after Seimei. “That lady...”

“A servant,” Seimei said.

Another woman, equally as beautiful, stood beside a door. She smiled as they drew closer, bowed and murmured a few words of welcome, then opened the door. “Lord Hiromasa’s room, as requested.”

“She—My...?” Hiromasa didn’t know where to look first. “This lady...?”

“She is also a servant.” Seimei indicated the open door. “Please step inside and tell me if my humble abode meets with your approval.”

Somewhat bewildered, Hiromasa entered the guest room and looked around in wonder. Spacious and elegantly appointed, it contained everything a nobleman might wish to have at his fingertips—a writing desk, cabinets, a clothes chest, a curtained dais with a sleeping mat laid out within, a table set with refreshments, shelves holding a selection of books and decorative objects.

The lady glided over to the table, where she poured a cup of wine and offered it to him. “Drink, Lord Hiromasa?”

“Ah,” said Hiromasa, his head spinning. He took the cup. “Thank you, Miss...”

“Her name is Willow,” Seimei said, sounding a little amused. “The other lady you saw is Lilac. Doubtless you’ll encounter Lily, Safflower, and Camellia in due time. They will certainly make themselves known to you. They’re very curious.”

Hiromasa clutched the wine-cup. He darted a glance at Willow then back at Seimei. There was no polite way to word this. “Are they—do they... do they all belong to you?”

Seimei looked affronted. “Goodness me, no. They belong to themselves and are quite at liberty to come and go as they please. They only serve me because I asked them nicely. I think they were bored before. They’re really quite sociable, and no one had thought to ask what they wanted to do. So I asked, and here they are.”

“I see,” said Hiromasa, though he didn’t understand Seimei’s explanation in the slightest. Perhaps he was more countrified than he realised. He took a sip of wine and tried to make sense of it all. Maybe the ladies were daughters of Seimei’s retainers, women of good breeding but too lowly to attract the attentions of high-ranking gentlemen. Serving in this household was no doubt preferable to spending the rest of their lives in some miserable backwater.

“I would be pleased if you would consent to staying here with me for a short while,” said Seimei. “Until you have gained recognition at court, please consider my house your home. You are free to leave at any time, should you wish to accept a better offer.”

“A better offer?” Hiromasa laughed before he could stop himself. He couldn’t imagine there was another house in the capital that could compare to this one. Many of his relatives had bigger estates, grander houses, countless servants and retainers, more ostentatious displays of wealth, but none of them had the same charm and oddness of Seimei’s house.

“It’s agreed, then.” A pleased smile curved Seimei’s mouth. “I’ll leave you to get settled. Please make yourself at home. Anything you need, ask Willow.” He bowed and withdrew, the door sliding shut behind him.

Hiromasa finished his wine and returned the cup to the table. Self-conscious and aware of Willow watching his every movement, he wandered around the room, examining the writing desk, opening the drawers and poking at the brushes, the ink sticks, the assortment of paper. He lifted the lid of the clothes chest and sneezed at the scent of camphor-wood. The chest was empty, so he moved on, picking up a book from the shelves and carrying it over to the windows. He peered through the blinds at a small garden filled with flowers and admired a miniature waterfall tumbling down an artistically shaped pile of rocks.

He sighed, a breath of amazement at his good fortune.

Willow took the book from his hands and smiled up at him, her dark eyes dancing. “Lord Hiromasa,” she said, and lifted the sleeve of his hunting costume. She pointed at the ragged cuff and all the places where the fabric had worn thin, and she giggled at the patch he’d sewn at the elbow.

Embarrassed, he pulled his arm free. Willow laughed and grabbed at his lacquered hat. Dust and grime stained her pale skin, and he blushed at how unkempt he must look. She put her hand into the fine mesh of his hat, poking her fingers through a rent in the back. Hiromasa groaned. Unkempt was not a strong enough word. No, he was a disgrace, a mess, worse than a mountain hermit! It was a wonder Seimei had allowed him to step over the threshold.

“Bath,” said Willow, dimpling at him. She threw his hat aside and took his hands. “Come with me. Wash. Be clean.”

Hiromasa didn’t hesitate. He followed Willow along the corridor and into the bathing room, grateful when she made a tactful exit and allowed him to undress behind the privacy of a screen. She returned to pour basins of hot water into a wooden tub, scented the bath with rose petals, hung a net bag of soap beans nearby, then left him alone again.

He clambered into the bath and sank down, enjoying the languid heat. For a moment he remained still, just resting, and then he took down his hair and ducked his head beneath the water. Hiromasa scrubbed at his hair, washing out the dirt of the road, and wished he could scour away all traces of his father’s exile as easily.

The water clouded, turned foamy with the soap. Willow came back into the room carrying a basin of warm water. Hiromasa rinsed his hair and settled against the side of the tub, letting his thoughts spiral and fade with the steam. Willow moved around in the background, picking up his clothes, tidying things away, humming a tune as she worked. Her voice was light, pleasant, and Hiromasa relaxed.

He marvelled again at the stroke of luck that had placed him in Seimei’s path. The directions must have been auspicious for him today. First the gift of the flute from the man at Suzaku Gate, then Seimei’s generous offer of clothes and a place to stay. His mother had told him he would encounter kindness from the good people of the capital, but until today he hadn’t believed her words. Until today, his own family members had shunned and reviled him.

Gloom tainted Hiromasa’s mood. He stirred, his arms breaking the surface of the water. Rose petals floated, and he plucked them one by one, folding them in his palm and then opening his fingers, letting the petals drift free. The memory of his unwelcome reception at his cousin’s house dug like a thorn into his flesh. Lord Tonaga hadn’t even listened to Hiromasa’s speech before rejecting him. Instead he’d called for his biggest, ugliest retainers to escort Hiromasa to the gate.

“Nobody wants you,” Tonaga had called after him. “Nobody wants to remember your father. Go back to your miserable province and bury yourself there.”

Hiromasa splashed in the tub, trying to dispel the recollections. Pessimism was not a natural state for him, and he tried to cheer himself with happier thoughts. So what if his family disliked him—he had made a new friend instead, someone interesting and unique! _But_ , muttered the pessimism, _what if Seimei is tricking you? What if Seimei wants something?_ Hiromasa wondered what he had that Seimei could possibly want. It wasn’t as if he were some helpless blushing maiden. _Well_ , blustered the pessimism, _perhaps Seimei is a fox. You didn’t think of that, did you?_

The water sloshed as Hiromasa sat upright. Seimei did look like a fox. Maybe this was a trick after all. Concerned, he pinched his bare arm enough to leave a red imprint on his skin, hoping to break the illusion. Nothing happened, but his arm hurt. Then he snapped his head from side to side very fast, trying to catch a glimpse of reality at the edges of his vision. His wet hair slapped his face but he saw nothing unusual, except for Willow’s bewildered expression.

If this was an illusion, it was remarkably real. Not that Hiromasa had experienced fox magic or an illusory world before, but he thought he was sensible enough to tell the difference between real and not-real.

Willow had obviously decided that his actions indicated the end of his bath, for now she approached the tub holding open a large drying-sheet. Hiromasa dawdled, a little embarrassed about stepping out naked in front of an attractive woman, but she smiled in a cheerful, non-threatening way and appeared oblivious to his nudity. While he dried himself, she wrapped another cloth around his hair. She folded aside the screen—his old clothes had gone, he noticed—to reveal new garments in several shades of soft grey and dark purple twill. Willow helped him to dress, tied up his wet hair, then settled a cap upon his head.

Clean and presentable at last, Hiromasa returned to the guest room and found Genjou laid across the writing desk. He plucked a few chords from the biwa then looked around for Ha Futatsu. The flute sat on the table beside the wine-jar and the empty cup. Hiromasa tucked the flute into his sleeve and went exploring.

He found more guest rooms, though none as fine as the one he occupied. He discovered the kitchen and the outhouse and the stables. He wandered through a small orchard until he came to a pond stocked with all kinds of fish, including some he was certain had no business living in a freshwater pool. Beyond lay a paddock where pure white oxen grazed. Returning to the house by another path, he came across a small pavilion beside an ornamental lake filled with lotus flowers.

Hiromasa entered the house through a different door and stopped short when he saw four women surrounded by masses of silk and damask and linen. All four were sewing, but they broke off from their task and their conversation to stare at him.

He recognised one of the ladies. “Miss Lilac,” he said, and bowed, heart thumping, face aflame. “Forgive the intrusion. I’m very sorry. I seem to be a bit lost.”

One of the women squealed and jumped up. Another followed, and they rushed over to him, pulling Hiromasa into the room. The third lady was more reserved, but she smiled and nodded, and Lilac made the introductions. His head spun as he looked from one lovely face to the next—Camellia, Lily, Safflower. He had never seen so many beautiful women in one household, and thought dazedly that Seimei’s companions must surely rival the Emperor’s ladies.

They bade him sit with them, holding up bolts of cloth and demonstrating the cut and style of the clothes they were making. Clothes for _him_ , Hiromasa realised, recognising the fabric as that bought by Seimei earlier today. He thanked the women several times, inspiring giggles and flirtatious looks. None of them attempted to hide their faces from him. Indeed, they even sat close and touched him as if measuring the breadth of his shoulders or the length of his arms.

They talked for a while. Some of their speech was peculiar, a jumble of sounds rather than words. Hiromasa decided his earlier guess was right—the ladies were provincials like him, but without the courtly gloss his parents had instilled into him. Their strange tongue must be the language used by commoners.

Evening had advanced by the time he took his leave. The women’s flattering interest had delighted Hiromasa, and he wandered through the rest of the house with a smile on his face and a buoyant sense of belonging and peace.

He found Seimei in the study, a mess of books and papers surrounding him. Three ink stones lined up neatly, each one bearing a different colour. Brushes lay scattered, ink blots trailing, as Seimei wrestled with a peculiar-looking device that seemed to consist of several long rulers jointed together at odd angles. He gave up on it and set the device down when Hiromasa entered the room.

“Ah, Hiromasa. I was expecting you this past hour or so. I take it you found more congenial company.”

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting. Do forgive me.” Hiromasa went forwards, anxious to attend on his host. He beamed. “Your ladies are so very charming.”

Seimei’s lips twitched into a smile and he made an effort to tidy away his papers. “They are not my ladies, but thank you all the same. I try to take care of them to the best of my poor abilities.”

It was a strange thing to say. Hiromasa pondered on it while he seated himself, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever it was that Seimei was working on. “Your home is beautiful, too. And your estate is magnificent. I hadn’t realised its size. It seems so much bigger inside than it looks from the outside.”

“An effect of good planning.” Seimei smiled again and retrieved a brush from its place tucked behind his ear.

“Surely you are a man much envied by others!”

The smile faded. “No.” Seimei dropped his gaze then looked out at the garden, at the nodding flowers furling in on themselves as night approached. “I am not a man to be envied. Which is fortunate, for envy is a sin and too much envy can cause all kinds of problems. But we need not speak of that.” He smiled a third time, softer than before.

Hiromasa swallowed his curiosity. “Very well.” His thoughts raced. He’d only been trying to make polite conversation and instead he’d hit upon something personal. His host was obviously nursing a deep wound over some past incident. How intriguing!

“Ah,” said Seimei, turning back with a pleasant expression as a footfall sounded behind them, “here is the evening rice. Thank you, Camellia.”

Adding his own thanks, Hiromasa waited until the lady had distributed bowls of rice, grilled fish, and steamed vegetables. A wine-jar stood nearby—where had that come from? Hiromasa wondered—and he poured two cups, handing one to Seimei. Camellia withdrew from the room. They ate, Seimei scarcely looking at his meal while Hiromasa enjoyed every mouthful.

After he’d eaten, Hiromasa resumed their conversation. “I never asked what it was you did at court.”

Seimei smiled again as he stirred through the rice in search of a piece of pickled ginger. “I am a yin yang master.”

A frisson of excitement stroked Hiromasa’s spine, and he sat bolt upright. “You tell fortunes?”

“Amongst other things.” Seimei waved his chopsticks in a lazy gesture. “Many other things.”

“I don’t suppose...” Hiromasa stopped himself from asking the question and instead gave a wistful sigh and shook his head. “No. I must not interrupt your work.”

“It’s quite all right.” Seimei shot him an indulgent look. “Too much palace work makes me excessively tedious, both to myself and company. I would be happy to do a reading for you.” He finished his food, took a final swig of wine, and leaned back, balancing just enough to prevent himself from falling flat, as he rooted around in an open set of drawers in a cherry-wood cabinet.

“The I Ching,” he said, bundling yarrow stalks into one hand, “is remarkably accurate, or at least when I cast it.” Seimei wrinkled his nose. “That probably sounds arrogant, but it is also true.”

“I would prefer to have an accurate reading than one full of kind intentions.” Hiromasa brought his wine-cup and sat a little closer. “I am not afraid of what the future might hold for me. The only thing I fear is that I might not be able to meet its demands.”

Seimei raised perfectly arched eyebrows. “So you hope for some direction to assist you in your future? Well: let us see what the I Ching suggests.”

Hiromasa watched as Seimei divided the stalks, counted them out, cast some aside, each action repeated over and over until the small bundles represented the lines of the hexagram. Taking up a discarded brush, Seimei dipped it in the nearest ink stone and drew a hexagram on the edge of a sheet of paper containing complex mathematical formulae. The original colour on the brush was black; the ink it had been dipped in was red, so the shape emerged in two colours, the inks bleeding into each other.

“It’s a transforming hexagram,” Seimei said, indicating the line on which the change occurred. He drew out a second hexagram then hung over the paper, a thoughtful expression on his face. A moment later he sat back and tapped a finger at the first hexagram. “Seventeen: Following. All things follow a natural cycle and you are no exception. As day follows night and spring follows winter, it is time for you to realise your potential. Find a guide, someone to inspire you, and follow them. Your desires have been hidden for too long. Find the one who can help you realise them.”

Seimei’s voice was brisk, impersonal, as he drew his finger across the paper to the transforming hexagram. “Three: Sprouting,” he continued. “Time for you to release the energy you’ve been nurturing and break the earth, show yourself to the world. Gather around you those best suited to give you assistance. Seek an alliance, a partnership, and you will grow and flourish.”

A slight pause followed, and then Seimei said, “Well, now. This is a very satisfactory reading.”

Astonished, Hiromasa stared at the two hexagrams. A kindling of doubt crept into his mind, and he glanced up. “You’re not just saying this, are you?”

Seimei looked offended. “I am never wrong.” He paused again, then admitted, “Although sometimes I am misguided. But never maliciously.”

“If I have been the cause of your misdirection, I apologise.”

“Nonsense.” A smile broke Seimei’s sombre countenance. “Besides, I know this reading is right. I’m glad the I Ching bears out my opinion of you.”

Silence, tiny and almost awkward, slipped between them. Seimei’s expression turned blank, as if he was afraid he’d said too much.

Hiromasa coughed into his sleeve and looked around for the wine-jar. He poured them each a drink, then asked, very carefully, “What do you want from me?”

Seimei’s smile flashed like quicksilver. “Nothing, Hiromasa. That is, nothing more than to hear you play Ha Futatsu.”

“That’s all?” Hiromasa eyed him, half believing, half mistrusting. “You give me so much in return for so little?”

“That’s all.” Seimei’s smile turned serious. “Please do not underestimate the value of good music. It would be wrong to put a price on such things, but...”

“I see.” Hiromasa nodded. Genjou was worth more to him than almost anything else in his life; perhaps Seimei felt the same about hearing the sound of Ha Futatsu. He fumbled in his sleeve and took out the flute. Closing his eyes, he set it to his lips and played.

A melody emerged—not the old-fashioned court tune he’d intended to play, but something haunting and beautiful, a piece that rose and fell like waves at sea. Hiromasa let himself follow the music, allowing the tune to unfold as if it came from the flute rather than from the depths of his memory. He built variations into the melody but came back to the central theme time and again, locked in the flow of sound until the final note ended—and when it did end, he felt it like a shock and set the flute in his lap, startled and blinking around at the darkness, at the flames dancing in the cressets.

Seimei had stretched out on his side, his face covered by his fan as he listened. Now he moved, shook off the rapture of the music, and folded the fan. He sighed. “It is a truly marvellous flute.”

“Yes.” The word sounded empty. Hiromasa stared at Ha Futatsu, stunned by its perfection of tone and warmth of sound. It was an instrument made for emperors, not for mere men, and he felt unworthy of it.

“Don’t,” said Seimei, his voice soft. As if he could read Hiromasa’s mind, he continued, “You are worthy of Ha Futatsu. The person at Suzaku Gate wouldn’t have given such a treasure away to just anyone.”

Hiromasa closed his hand around the flute, cradling it, protecting it. “Thank you.”

Seimei’s eyes gleamed. “Take it to court tomorrow. Carry it with you always.”

“Court?”

“Yes.” Seimei rose, his heavy silk sleeves falling back to brush against the floor. He smiled, wistful but happy. “Goodnight, Hiromasa.”


	3. Chapter 3

Hiromasa fell asleep late and woke early, his dreams full of Ha Futatsu’s song. He lay in bed and stared at the shifting pattern of the embroidered curtains, his head fuzzy with tiredness. He’d stayed awake long after the candles had snuffed themselves out, aware of the creak of the house settling into night around him, aware of the scent of cinnamon and sweet pine and cloves. He’d rolled from one side to the other, restless rather than uncomfortable, conscious that he was waiting for his host to slide open the door and come to him.

The thought made Hiromasa shiver with mingled fear and excitement. Despite Seimei’s assurance that he wanted nothing more from him than music, Hiromasa was not such an innocent that he believed it. Sex was the most obvious currency in these situations. It wasn’t as though Hiromasa hadn’t done it before, though his previous experiences had been clumsy and lacking in elegance, due more to youthful exuberance than any courtly notions of good taste. Seimei was attractive, refined, and moved with grace. It would surely be a pleasure to make love with him, but Hiromasa feared exposing himself as boorish and provincial.

But his fears were groundless and his curiosity left unsatisfied, as the door to his room remained shut and Seimei never came. Hiromasa told himself he wasn’t disappointed. He hummed over the tune he’d played last night, then pushed aside the quilts of his robes and went over to the writing desk to jot down the notation. He played the melody on Genjou, attempting to match the biwa’s sound to the flute, then decided to write a counter-melody.

Busy with his work, he didn’t notice Willow enter his room until she placed the morning rice in front of him on the desk. He yelped and started backwards, and she giggled.

“Good morning!” She pushed the food closer. “Please eat!”

Setting aside the music, Hiromasa shovelled the flavoured rice gruel into his mouth. Willow poured him a cup of watered wine then went over to the clothes chest. He turned to watch her, and almost choked when she lifted the lid to reveal piles of neatly folded clothes. Shaking out a set of under-robes, she laid them over a folding screen, then left the room. She returned bearing formal black court wear with two layers of lilac and grey.

“Thank you.” Hiromasa found his voice. “Thank you—all of you—for working so hard. Your kindness is extraordinary. I am in your debt.”

Willow gave a gentle peal of laughter. “We like you.”

He finished his breakfast and stood while she fussed around him, helping him on with the court robes and making sure every fold fell just so. She presented him with a tailed lacquered cap and watched while he set it on his head, then she nodded in satisfaction. “Ready,” she said, and slid open the door.

“Ah—one moment...” Remembering Seimei’s words last night, Hiromasa picked up Ha Futatsu and tucked the flute into the front of his court cloak. “Now I’m ready.”

Willow led him into the reception hall where Seimei waited, dressed in formal court clothes and idly waving a crimson and gold patterned fan. He looked imposing and distant, and Hiromasa blushed at having entertained such pleasurable, wicked thoughts about his host.

“Today you should introduce yourself to your father’s friends,” Seimei said as they climbed into the ox-cart. “Since your family has been spectacularly unhelpful, you may as well apply to friends. Your father was a popular man, I believe, at least until his exile. Popular men make as many enemies as they do friends, but some of those enemies may turn out to have mellowed in the intervening years.”

Hiromasa swayed on a cushion as the ox-cart rumbled out of the estate and onto Nishi no Toin Avenue. “I recall the names of those who corresponded with Father while he was in exile. Now I have the appropriate clothes to enter the palace,” he paused and gave Seimei a grateful look, “I will visit them.”

“Good.” Seimei tapped his fan on the floor of the carriage, and the ox-cart swung right to begin its approach to the imperial complex. They sat in companionable silence for a while, the ruts in the road becoming less noticeable the nearer they drew to the palace. The cart stopped, and the bovine-faced driver unfolded the steps for his passengers. Hiromasa held onto his cap as he jumped down, the breeze catching at the stiff folds of his formal robes and puffing out the layers of his silks.

Seimei emerged, thanked the driver, and greeted the two guards on duty at the Taiken Gate. He put a hand on Hiromasa’s arm in a familiar gesture and smiled brilliantly as they walked past the soldiers. The guards returned the smile but didn’t challenge Hiromasa.

“Next time you come, you will have the authority to pass into the outer palace without my assistance,” Seimei said. “For today, you may wander at will and accustom yourself to the layout of this place. None of the guards will stop you.”

“You must be well respected,” Hiromasa said, full of admiration.

Seimei touched his fan to his lips, his smile brief. “Something like that.”

They moved on, Hiromasa trying to commit to memory everything Seimei said about every building they passed and every person they saw up close or from a distance. Hiromasa smiled and bowed at everyone indiscriminately until Seimei told him to stop.

“Most of the courtiers you see here are beneath you, socially speaking. They hold sixth rank or below.”

“I don’t know what rank I hold,” Hiromasa said. “Am I even entitled to one, considering Father’s exile?”

Seimei made a thoughtful sound. “As the son of an imperial prince, you should be junior lower fourth rank at the very least. As the son of a disgraced imperial prince... well, that is something we need to discover. To be on the safe side, acknowledge the nobles of sixth rank or less but don’t bow too deeply. Better to be thought of as arrogant than to be considered overly humble. No one believes in humility, even when it’s genuine.”

“Right.” Hiromasa squared his shoulders. “I can do that.”

“One more thing.” Seimei stopped and swung around to face him. “When you encounter any of your family, if they ask about your clothes, lie to them.”

“But...”

Seimei’s eyes blazed. “Lie. Tell them you visited the Archives and discovered an inheritance. Tell them you have wealth.”

“Telling lies is a sin,” Hiromasa protested.

“You are not the sinful one.” The fan snapped shut as if in emphasis. “Lie to them. Only by giving the illusion of wealth will you advance yourself. This is the truth of life at court.”

Hiromasa pondered this advice. “You don’t lie.”

Seimei gave him a sad smile. “Ah, but I do.”

The response silenced Hiromasa, who privately decided that Seimei was lying about lying, which surely meant that he was telling the truth or some such thing. The thought confused him, and he slipped his hands beneath his cloak and brushed his fingers against the flute, drawing strength from it.

Seimei strolled on ahead, the white gravel of the courtyard crunching beneath his suede boots. He gestured at a long hall with a tower and two water-clocks on the veranda. The building appeared to be in a state of decay, its wooden beams weathered and its green roof-tiles cracked. “The Bureau of Divination,” Seimei said. “I need to collect a few things from my colleagues, but first I will accompany you as far as the Office of the Left Palace Guards. They will know where you may find your father’s old friends.”

Hiromasa looked back at the Bureau of Divination as they turned a corner and headed north. “Seimei, I’ve been thinking about the I Ching last night and what it revealed...”

“Oh?”

“I was wondering—not that I have any ability in that direction, I’m sure, but perhaps... I mean...” Hiromasa winced at his incoherence and tried again. “That is to say—Seimei, would you like an apprentice?”

Seimei gave him a startled look. “You? Oh, Hiromasa.” He chuckled, dipped his head, and hid the rest of his amusement behind his fan.

“Is that a no?”

“It is.” Seimei peeped over the fan at him, eyes dancing. “Believe me, I’m flattered you should even consider it, but it would be a shameful waste of your talents. No, my lord Hiromasa, you are destined for greater things.”

Hiromasa beamed. “I am?”

Seimei threw him a dazzling look. “Trust me. I have the utmost faith in your abilities.”

They turned east. Ahead of them, several courtiers stood talking on the steps of a nearby building. A man dressed in splendid brocades hurried out of the building, snapping something at the others, who moved away with audible mutters and black looks.

“Ah, here comes your cousin.” Seimei spun on his heel so fast that Hiromasa almost bumped into him. Seimei leaned close, his scent of cinnamon, sweet pine, and cloves soft and subtle and intoxicating. “I will take my leave of you now. The Office of the Left Guards is directly ahead, the large building close by the walls. I know you must have speech with Lord Tonaga, but for your sake don’t tell him any more than he needs to know.”

With that, Seimei flipped open his fan and sailed off, the tails of his lacquered cap fluttering and the black silk of his court cloak rippling with the sheen of a dark iridescent blue. Hiromasa gazed after him, wondering when they’d meet again that day and how he was going to get back to the estate. As he considered chasing after Seimei to demand answers to these questions, Lord Tonaga stamped past him. A heartbeat later, Tonaga stopped, stood completely still, then turned around to stare at Hiromasa.

“It’s you,” Tonaga said, features slack with astonishment. His gaze darted over Hiromasa like fishes flitting between shadows in a pool, and still he seemed unable to believe the change between the man he’d seen only a few days ago and the well-dressed young courtier who stood before him now. “It _is_ you, isn’t it, Cousin Hiromasa?”

Hiromasa bowed, according Tonaga more respect than he probably deserved. “It’s me, cousin.”

“How did you get in here?” Tonaga seemed uninterested in the reply, more concerned with staring in the direction Seimei had taken. A frown creased his heavy brows. “Was that Abe no Seimei?”

“Yes.” Hiromasa kept his response as brief as possible.

“You shouldn’t trust that man.” Tonaga pursed his lips and brushed an imaginary fleck of dirt from his expensive maroon and tan robes. “Lord Seimei is quite the eccentric. He labours under the mistaken belief that he runs the Bureau of Divination, when in fact he is only a junior member. He is so proud he only turns up at meetings when it suits him, can you imagine!” Tonaga uttered a squawking laugh. “Just because he holds the favour of members of the imperial family, he thinks he can do as he pleases.”

“Really?” Hiromasa turned his full attention on his cousin, eager to learn more about Seimei.

Tonaga gave a disdainful sniff. “Oh, yes. It’s said that he casts spells on women to make them do his bidding. It’s all dreadfully underhand. Why he needs magic to lure women is quite beyond me. He’s disgustingly wealthy and doesn’t even have the decency to share it by bribing officials in order to advance himself at court. I suppose he thinks he doesn’t need our help, but I tell you, cousin, the day will come—and soon—that he will beg for our favour.”

“Really?” Hiromasa asked again in a different tone of voice, disturbed by the bitterness and anger contorting his cousin’s features.

“Of course.” Tonaga summoned a twisted smile. “Abe no Seimei might think he’s above the likes of me, but he’s lower than the meanest commoner toiling in the fields. He’s the favourite of Former Emperor Yozei, and someone who deals with _that_ much pollution must be akin to a walking cesspit.”

Hiromasa gaped, too astonished by Tonaga’s venom to comment on it. He struggled to recall what he knew of Former Emperor Yozei, but remembered only rumours about insanity and a scandal that had led to Yozei’s removal from the throne. Unable to think of anything better to say, Hiromasa murmured, “Seimei is a good man.”

“You shouldn’t associate with him.” Tonaga swept him with another critical look, gaze rounding on the patterned silk of Hiromasa’s sleeves. “Anyway, it seems you’ve come into some wealth since we last met. Did you sell that old biwa as I suggested?”

Hiromasa held his tongue on the truth and told the lie that Seimei had prepared for him. “I visited the Archives yesterday and discovered I had a small estate inherited from my mother’s family. It’s not much, but it will keep me clothed in an appropriate manner and enable me to purchase gifts of proper suitability to give to my betters.”

At this, Tonaga seemed to shake off his bad temper, his demeanour changing so rapidly that Hiromasa felt dizzy just to see it. His expression bright with interest, Tonaga gestured at Hiromasa’s robes. “Your new garments are very fine, cousin. That silk...”

“Korean,” Hiromasa said. “From Ogita.”

“Ogita!” Tonaga’s eyes widened. “I wonder you have any funds left after buying from that scoundrel! Korean silk, you said? That sly dog, he assured me he had no new stock... But never mind.” Tonaga laid a friendly arm around Hiromasa’s shoulders and began walking with him towards the Office of the Left Guards. “You’ve borrowed against the estate? A good plan. What is it worth?”

Hiromasa named a figure at random and thought he’d gone too far when Tonaga’s arm stiffened. “So much!” Tonaga whispered, then he coughed. “Hiromasa—you are family. I spoke hastily and without thought when you called on me the other day. I’ve been thinking and I insist you come to live with me.”

His transparency was amusing, but Hiromasa managed to suppress a smile. “Thank you for the kind offer, but I already have a place to stay.”

Tonaga gave a disdainful sniff. “You can’t possibly be referring to that guesthouse in the west city! Why, it’s no more than a hovel. I absolutely must insist, cousin—you must stay with me.”

“Thank you again,” said Hiromasa, “but I’m staying with Lord Seimei.”

“What?” The word came out as a squeak. Tonaga halted, staring at him.

“Lord Seimei invited me to—”

“No.” The shock wore off, and Tonaga waved his hands in agitation. “No, Hiromasa. I forbid it. I am a Major Controller in the Ministry of War and thus the highest ranking member of our family, the closest thing you have to a father figure, and I utterly forbid you from even contemplating such an action! Abe no Seimei is strange and perverse.”

“He is a kind and polite gentleman,” Hiromasa said, annoyed by his cousin’s reaction.

“He speaks to demons!”

Hiromasa sighed. “Possibly. But then, he is a yin yang master, and I imagine speaking to demons is only a small part of what he does.”

“Cousin, you’re so naive.” Tonaga clutched his sleeves and drew back. “Seimei is not even human!”

Startled, Hiromasa rocked on his heels. “What?”

Tonaga looked around and leaned close. “It’s said that his mother was a fox.”

Anxiety jolted Hiromasa, curdled in his stomach. Hadn’t he considered that same possibility already? He forced out a carefree laugh. “I don’t believe it.”

“It’s true!” Tonaga glared, defying him to disbelieve his words. “Why else would he spend time with Former Emperor Yozei? A fox is a low animal, a devious animal. It burrows in the ground and loves filth of all kinds. It seeks out pollution. I tell you, cousin, Abe no Seimei is a fox, a dirty fox that gains power from association with a fallen emperor!”


	4. Chapter 4

Hiromasa spent the rest of the day in a profitable manner. Once Lord Tonaga had gone on his way, still advising against staying with Seimei, Hiromasa had walked into the Office of the Left Guards. A junior captain had been tasked to find the whereabouts of several of Former Prince Katsuakira’s friends, and Hiromasa trailed from one side of the palace to the other, introducing himself and drinking wine and listening to reminiscences. Some of his father’s friends displayed surprise that he’d come to the capital, but many offered to support his efforts once he’d received an official rank and imperial recognition.

Uncertain as to how he’d get such things, Hiromasa accepted a ride in an ox-cart belonging to the Secretary Controller, a man who’d once been close to his father.

“How do I reach His Majesty’s attention?” Hiromasa asked as the carriage juddered away from the palace. “I can’t just introduce myself. Though I’m His Majesty’s nephew, he must have dozens of relatives. Hundreds, even. I need to come to his notice in some remarkable way, but how?”

The Secretary Controller smoothed his wispy grey moustache. “Can you dance? His Majesty enjoys watching good dancers.”

Hiromasa shook his head. “I can’t dance, but I can play the flute and the biwa.”

The Secretary Controller wrinkled his nose. “His Majesty is less fond of musicians, perhaps because he is an excellent musician himself.”

Gloom descended, and Hiromasa’s shoulders slumped. He shook off the mood, lifting his chin, firing his determination. “I’ll find a way. His Majesty will notice me.”

“Just like your father.” The Secretary Controller smiled. “He wouldn’t let anything stop him once he set his mind to it. Be careful you don’t follow your father’s example too closely, Lord Hiromasa. It would be a shame if you were sent back to the provinces after so short a time at court.”

The Secretary Controller ordered his carriage to drive up to the gates of Seimei’s estate, but he refused Hiromasa’s offer of refreshments with the excuse of another appointment. “Besides,” the Secretary Controller said, “Lord Seimei is particular about whom he allows over his threshold. I would not wish to presume, not without his express invitation. Be well, Hiromasa. I shall see you at court.”

His head full of thoughts for his future, Hiromasa went inside. The house lay quiet and still, with not even the sound of footsteps or giggles to mark the presence of the women. Sunbeams spread golden across the polished floorboards, and dust motes danced between the light and the shadows. The scent of rushes and pine hung in the air.

His room was empty. Hiromasa sighed and changed out of his court robes, draping the stiff black silk over a shaped clothes hanger. He moved the hanger close to the windows and rolled up the bamboo blinds halfway to permit the breeze to brush against his formal garments. Opening the chest, he selected a casual outfit of a dark blue hunting costume and three layers of shading lavender-grey. Quite possibly the colours clashed and were inappropriate for the season, but while he was still in mourning he didn’t care so much about his appearance when relaxing at home.

The idle thought gave him pause. This wasn’t his home. Hiromasa frowned. How easy it was to think of Seimei’s house as a home. Easy and dangerous, if what Tonaga had said was true. Doubt crept into his mind, and Hiromasa succumbed to fearful thoughts of foxes and illusions once again before he shook out his sleeves and told himself not to be so foolish.

He strode out of his room and made his way along the bridgeways and galleries to Seimei’s study. Perhaps there, amongst all the clutter he’d seen yesterday, he would find evidence that Seimei was nothing more sinister than a gifted diviner and astronomer. Hiromasa had no idea what form this evidence would take, but he was sure he’d find something to convince his cousin.

The hush extended into the older part of the house, into Seimei’s private quarters. Hiromasa slowed his pace in deference to the quiet, aware of a subtle tension in the air. So accustomed was he to the emptiness around him that when he saw Seimei in the centre of the study, Hiromasa started back in surprise.

The room was tidy, the books and scrolls placed on the shelves, the writing desk tucked against a wall, and two painted screens folded out to divide the rest of the space. A cone of incense smouldered in a small brazier, sending blue twists of sandalwood and spikenard towards the roof.

Seimei knelt beside the brazier, the sleeves of his hunting costume unlaced from the shoulder and lying like shed wings behind him on the floor. He wore blue patterned silk, the shade veering towards violet, a single splash of colour against layers of white. His head was uncovered, the sight shockingly intimate, and as Hiromasa stared, Seimei reached up and unfastened his hair from its topknot, shaking it out to fall around his shoulders.

Only then did he turn his head in Hiromasa’s direction, eyes gleaming. “You’ve been listening to rumour.”

Hiromasa felt winded. “Not me.”

“So you haven’t heard that I’m a fox-child?”

Shaking off the lingering clutch of fascination, Hiromasa went towards him. “I did hear something...”

Seimei chuckled, the sound deep and rich. “Oh, Hiromasa.”

“I don’t believe it, though.”

“Don’t you?” Seimei’s eyebrows arched. “Perhaps you should.”

Aware of undercurrents shifting around him, Hiromasa asked, “Was your mother a fox?”

The only reply was a smile, which was not an answer. Hiromasa huffed. “You encourage me to believe gossip but refuse to confirm or deny it.”

Seimei laughed. “It’s more entertaining to believe in gossip rather than to hear the truth. But if you really want to know...” He reached inside his sleeve, took out an ivory comb, and tossed it to Hiromasa. Seimei flicked a hand through the length of his hair. “Check for yourself. Brush my hair. See if you can find my fox ears.”

The invitation was both troubling and exciting. Was this a seduction? Hiromasa adjusted his hold on the comb and knelt behind Seimei. Now was not the time to start worrying about his provincial experiences of lovemaking. Tentatively he angled the ivory teeth and pulled the comb down, only catching a little of Seimei’s hair.

Seimei uttered a small sound and nudged back against his hand. “Harder.”

Hiromasa felt his face flame, bewildered desire chasing through him. His fingers trembled and he took a tighter grip. He drew the comb through Seimei’s hair with brisk strokes, working the full length to ease out the few tangles. After a while, strands of hair clung to his hand and stuck to the silk of Seimei’s under-robes. Hiromasa leaned closer, enjoying the soothing, repetitive action and the scent of Seimei’s hair.

“No fox ears,” Seimei said, his voice soft and purring.

“No.” Hiromasa swept Seimei’s hair to one side and pretended to study the ear. “Looks like a human ear to me. But,” he added, remembering Tonaga’s other comments, “I suppose you could always cast a spell to hide your fox ears.”

“Cast a spell?” Seimei seemed diverted by the idea.

“Yes,” said Hiromasa, screwing up his courage to repeat his cousin’s accusation. “The way you cast a spell on women.”

Seimei ducked away from the next stroke and twisted around. He took the comb and held Hiromasa’s gaze. “So that’s what they’re saying about me now.”

“You have five exceptionally beautiful women living with you in perfect harmony. Of course people will talk!”

Seimei’s expression clouded. “It’s not like that. Not like that at all.”

“No one cares about the truth. You just told me that.”

“You’re right.” Seimei snorted and shook his head. “Are you asking to assuage your own curiosity or that of Lord Tonaga?”

“My own.” Hiromasa took back the comb and waited for Seimei to settle himself again. “I admit I’m very curious about the ladies who reside here. At first I thought they were provincials like me, but now I’m not so sure.”

Seimei made an amused sound, relaxing into the rhythm of the comb-strokes. “You’ve thought about them a lot?”

Hiromasa blushed. “They are very beautiful.”

“Quite.” Seimei clapped his hands, and within a few moments Safflower entered the study. She smiled as she approached them, and then within the space of a heartbeat, in the blink of an eye, the beautiful young woman transformed into a yellow flower.

Hiromasa exclaimed in shock, yanking the comb through Seimei’s hair so hard that several strands broke free, tangled in the ivory teeth. Seimei yelped, rubbing his scalp with one hand and reaching around to grab the comb with the other. Hiromasa scuttled backwards, words of feeble apology spilling from him, his gaze fixed on the pretty yellow flower. It rolled from side to side as if blown by a breeze, and he was sure he could hear the echo of feminine laughter.

“As a demonstration of magic, that was perhaps a little flawed,” Seimei said, still rubbing at his head.

“I’m sorry. So sorry.” Hiromasa couldn’t take his eyes from the yellow flower. “Is—is that...”

Seimei dropped the comb into his lap and leaned forward. He picked up the flower and held it balanced in the centre of his palm. “This is a safflower.”

“Safflower. Right. But it’s a _flower_ ,” Hiromasa said. “It’s not a woman.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Seimei tossed the safflower into the air. The blossom tumbled and spun through the evening sunlight, and transformed back into the young woman. Safflower laughed, her cheeks flushed a charming rosy colour and her hair and robes billowing around her as if she’d just jumped from a height.

Hiromasa whimpered. “The woman is a flower is a woman?”

Seimei chuckled. “She is a shikigami, like all of the women of this household. Minor deities who inhabit the world around us, shikigami choose whether or not to interact with humans. They will occasionally—if asked nicely—agree to serve a yin yang master or a priest or a mountain hermit, but they stay only as long as they please and will return to nature whenever they choose to do so.”

Safflower giggled, and Seimei gave her an affectionate look. “They are curious and playful for the most part. I summon them from various objects—paper dolls, flowers, a pattern on a piece of fabric. I like their company. Their presence is soothing. Yes, I like them very much.”

Hiromasa let out a wondering breath. “Amazing. You could fill the entire palace with shikigami—the entire city. How wonderful that would be!”

“It takes effort to give human shape to a shikigami,” Seimei said, amused. “My magic and the shikigami’s own power. I doubt I have the skill and strength necessary to maintain a palace full of shikigami. Besides, someone would notice. Shikigami love conversing with one another but find it hard to remember more than basic vocabulary when talking to a human.”

“I doubt anyone would care,” Hiromasa said, shuffling back to sit beside Seimei. “I mean, they’re so beautiful.”

Seimei snorted. “Some men enjoy actually talking to a woman, you know.”

“Ah?” Hiromasa realised what he’d said and blushed again. “I didn’t mean to be disrespectful. I just meant—”

“Never mind, Hiromasa. Better that we change the subject.” Seimei nodded to Safflower. “Perhaps a drink would be in order?”

The shikigami bowed and glided away into the shadows.

Still considering all he’d seen and learned, Hiromasa watched as Seimei picked up the comb and pulled the long strands of hair from it. He rubbed the strands together, gathering them into a small ball, then threw the hair into the brazier. A puff of smoke, and the hair turned briefly to flame, the acrid smell staining the air.

Hiromasa frowned. “Why did you do that?”

Seimei slid the comb into his sleeve. “Hair has a powerful magic, one of the most potent types of magic a human can possess. Even a single strand has power. It can bind someone to something, sharing the essence of that person. A single strand of hair can bring life to inanimate objects for a short period of time.” He smiled, running a hand through his hair to catch any loose strands. “Why do you think so many love-gifts involve a lock of hair? It’s not for any romantic reason. It’s all to do with power.”

“Oh.” Hiromasa considered this. “I just thought it was a nice keepsake.”

Seimei chuckled and threw the few loose strands of his hair into the brazier. They sat together, watching the flare as the hair was consumed, and then the coals settled to a gentle glow and the pleasant fragrance of the incense overlaid the harsh smell.

Safflower entered the study carrying a wine-jar and two cups. She gave Hiromasa a dazzling smile as she poured his drink, and he stared at her, seeing her transformation again in his mind’s eye. Though she had been a very pretty flower, he decided he preferred her human form. Any man would. But then he remembered Seimei’s reaction, the way he’d stated that the shikigami were his companions rather than concubines, and Hiromasa wondered, and drank his wine, and wondered some more.

When the wine had blunted the edge of his sensibility, he looked at Seimei and said, “Why are you helping me?”

“Why, indeed.” Seimei sipped his drink with perfect equanimity. “Because I want to. Because I can.”

“There must be something you want from me in return.”

Silence stretched between them, growing more awkward by the moment. Seimei arched an eyebrow, his expression polite and enquiring. “I believe we’ve had this conversation before, Hiromasa. Are you accusing me of impropriety?”

Hiromasa blushed and dropped his gaze. “No.” Feeling brave, he glanced up, adding in soft, conciliatory tones, “Although—if you wanted... I would not be averse...”

Seimei stood so abruptly that the unfastened sleeves of his hunting costume swung out and knocked over his cup, spilling wine across the floor. His face pale, his eyes sharp with anger, he stared at Hiromasa. “No. It’s not like that. I don’t—I... Can’t a man have friends?”

“Friend...?” Hiromasa gazed at him, horrified by the mistake.

Seimei spun around and walked away, his back stiff and his head held high.

Hiromasa struggled to get up, but the wine and his mortification had made his legs weak. “Seimei!” he called. “I’m sorry—Seimei, please come back!”

The study door slid shut, and Hiromasa was alone.


	5. Chapter 5

Another restless night followed, but this time Hiromasa spent most of it wondering if he should force an apology on Seimei. He decided against it, thinking that if Seimei was angry with him, then there was a high probability that Seimei might turn him into a toad or a slug or some other such slimy, worthless creature.

He fell asleep worrying and woke with gritty eyes and a headache when Willow pulled up the blinds and let a stream of sunshine into his room. Hiromasa mumbled and burrowed beneath his robes.

Willow served him the morning rice and prepared his clothes for the day, all the while keeping up a pleasant stream of chatter. Her happy mood was infectious, and by the time he’d finished his breakfast and submitted to her critical appraisal of his outfit, Hiromasa’s spirits had lifted.

“Where is Seimei?” he asked when he entered the reception hall and found the ox-cart waiting.

Willow lifted her shoulders. “Not here. Perhaps at palace.”

“Why didn’t he wake me earlier?” Hiromasa tried not to feel disappointed. “I thought—I was hoping... But perhaps he didn’t want to disturb me. Perhaps he had a very early engagement. Seimei is very thoughtful.”

Willow nodded, her face downcast. “Seimei is very thoughtful.” She paused, raised her gaze. “He likes you, Lord Hiromasa. Be patient with him. He is...” Another pause, and Willow’s brow furrowed, her hands fluttering as if she couldn’t find the correct words. “He is like us.”

“Like shikigami?”

She smiled. “Yes. You understand.”

Hiromasa wasn’t sure he did understand, but he had no intention of revealing his ignorance to Willow. He thanked her, clambered into the ox-cart, and for the duration of the journey to the palace he pondered on what she’d said. He thought back over what Seimei had told him yesterday about shikigami, but the only thing that came to mind—apart from being able to summon them from flowers—was Seimei saying that shikigami only stayed with him as long as they wanted to stay.

The ox-cart listed as it turned a corner. Hiromasa brooded. Was Willow telling him not to get involved because Seimei had no intention of committing to just one person? Or was she actually saying that Seimei was a shikigami himself? _Like us_ , she’d said. So Seimei wasn’t a shikigami, he was something else. But if Willow had been trying to warn him, why had she asked him to be patient?

It didn’t make sense, no matter which way he looked at it. Hiromasa’s headache returned, and he sank into befuddlement.

The ox-cart stopped at the Yuhou Gate. He got out and strolled past the guards, who acknowledged him with a nod. He hadn’t planned anything for today except calling on a few more of his father’s acquaintances at the palace. The junior captain of the Left Guards who’d helped him yesterday had been a friendly sort. Perhaps he could prevail upon the captain to introduce him to more of the right sort of people. Or, Hiromasa thought as he caught sight of the drum tower rising above a green-tiled roof, perhaps he could call on Seimei at the Bureau of Divination.

Yes, he would visit Seimei. He would see for himself what a yin yang master did, and he would coax Seimei out of the office and they would enjoy a nice lunch together—not that Hiromasa knew where they’d go, but that was a minor detail—and then Hiromasa could apologise for last night’s misunderstanding.

Before he could get very far, a figure detached itself from the shadows of the veranda of the Ministry for the Sovereign’s Household and hurried towards him, calling his name in delighted and over-loud tones. Hiromasa slowed, recognising his cousin. He had enough time to arrange his features into an agreeable expression and bowed. “Lord Tonaga, how marvellous to see you again.”

“My dear young cousin!” Tonaga made great show of embracing him, and Hiromasa tried not to breathe in the heavy musk and sandalwood perfume that didn’t quite hide the odour of stale sweat. “I hear you’ve made the acquaintance of the Secretary Controller and a number of your father’s other friends. A wise decision, cousin, but I can be of more assistance to you than those gentlemen.”

Hiromasa kept the smile on his face. “Oh?”

“Indeed, for I am the bearer of wonderful news!” Tonaga linked arms with Hiromasa and drew him along the avenue away from the Bureau of Divination. “Just this morning I had a conversation with my very good friend the Senior Captain of the Emperor’s Chamber, telling him all about you—my long-lost cousin from the provinces fortunate to have come into unexpected wealth here in the capital, but sadly without rank or position, and I said to my friend what a shame it was that you had good blood, good breeding, excellent connections, and yet no position at court.”

Hiromasa remained silent, the smile hurting his face.

“So,” Tonaga said, looking smug, “my friend the Senior Captain just happened to mention that a position has opened up amongst the guards who care for the imperial falcons. I can’t imagine this is a job that requires any very detailed knowledge of anything, really, except feeding a few scraps to the birds. In my opinion it sounds ideal for a man such as yourself, raised in the provinces amongst wild animals.”

The smile had become a rictus now. Hiromasa made a noise that he hoped sounded like affirmation or interest or some such thing. He couldn’t afford to alienate Tonaga just because his cousin was insulting him in one breath and offering him the chance of a future at court with the next.

“If you impress the Senior Captain—and please don’t worry, I have put in a good word for you—you’ll get the position.” Tonaga gave him a triumphant, self-satisfied smirk, then waved a hand dismissively. “Now, now, don’t thank me, cousin! It’s only a junior sixth rank posting, far below what your family and connections demand, but considering your father’s shameful exile, it’s better than nothing. The position comes with a stipend—a mere trifle, but with the inheritance you discovered yesterday I can’t imagine you would require much extra, not with your country tastes—but more importantly, you’ll receive a room at the palace.”

“I can’t believe it,” Hiromasa said, dizzy with happiness despite the slights against his background. “You are so generous, cousin. Thank you for your assistance and advice.” He bowed in gratitude, and Tonaga gave a careless laugh. An unworthy thought crossed Hiromasa’s mind— _why is he helping you, when only a few days ago he threw you onto the street?_ —but he supposed the answer was plain enough. Tonaga thought he was wealthy now. Hiromasa wished he hadn’t told that lie yesterday. Then he remembered the I Ching reading in which Seimei had told him to seek alliances. Surely the best alliance he could make was with the most senior member of his family.

Convinced that Tonaga’s change of heart was mostly well-intentioned, Hiromasa walked with his cousin to the west of the greater palace, where Tonaga introduced him to Senior Captain Kiyomi, a squat man with a face resembling carved stone.

“I’ll be back in a little while,” Tonaga promised, his gaze straying past Hiromasa towards a group of gentlewomen. “Do excuse me.”

Kiyomi looked Hiromasa up and down. “Lord Tonaga said you’re from Musashi.”

“Yes.”

A slight smile cracked the stern features. “My wife’s father is from Musashi. He served as the Audit Commissioner for Fuchu. He knew your father, my lord. Of course the distance between their ranks was too great for anything more than a casual acquaintance, but nonetheless my father-in-law admired Former Prince Katsuakira.”

Hiromasa dropped his gaze, overwhelmed for a moment. “Thank you.”

Kiyomi clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on. Did Lord Tonaga tell you about the position? It’s more than merely ceremonial. You should meet the falcons. If the birds take to you and vice versa, you’ll do well here. You can’t just toss dead rabbits at them and hope for the best. You have to care for the birds, love them, appreciate them...”

They went through a hall and out into a large courtyard surrounded by long, low buildings. Kiyomi called out, and a guard stepped from one of the mews with a peregrine falcon on his padded wrist. The guard flung the bird skyward, and the peregrine took off, silver bells ringing from scarlet jesses. Hiromasa shaded his eyes with his hands to follow the bird’s flight, admiring its speed and grace.

A flock of pigeons lifted from one of the palace roofs, the birds wheeling in fright at the presence of a predator. The peregrine flew high, swung up beyond Hiromasa’s sight. He looked for it, and the guard pointed. Hiromasa caught his breath as the falcon folded its wings and dropped like a stone. It fell in amongst the flock, tipping its wings to angle its flight, and snatched a pigeon. The force of the strike carried both birds out of eyesight, and Hiromasa imagined the falcon on another rooftop or the ground, the pigeon pinned beneath its talons.

Kiyomi watched his reaction. “We exercise the birds outside every couple of days on strict rotation. His Majesty the Emperor has dozens of hawks, some more favoured than others, but we treat them all equally. We also care for the falcons of His Eminence the Former Emperor Yozei. They’re housed over there.” He indicated a smaller mews to the south of the courtyard. “But let me introduce you to your main charges, His Majesty the Emperor’s prized birds.”

He led the way towards the mews to the north, pausing a moment to talk to the guard who’d held the peregrine. Kiyomi indicated for Hiromasa to go on ahead, and he stepped into the building, blinking at the change in light. Set out like a stables, each area was divided from the next by a half-length wooden wall. Birds sat on perches or wandered on the beaten earth floor, or nestled amongst branches placed to resemble a natural habitat. Each bird wore bells and jesses and were attached to a creance long enough that they could take some exercise within their individual areas.

Hiromasa moved between the mews slowly, taking care not to startle the birds. Some were hooded and appeared to be sleeping, but others were awake, staring at their surroundings with bright eyes. He paused to admire a gyrfalcon, only looking around when he heard Kiyomi join him.

“My father owned a pair of gyrfalcons,” Hiromasa said, voice soft with remembrance. “He hunted with them on the Kanto Plain. The female died one winter when I was a child. The male pined for her. One day my father took him out to hunt, and the bird never came back.”

Kiyomi gave him a sympathetic look. “These birds have to come back.”

“Yes.” Hiromasa sighed, and the gyrfalcon rustled its wings. “Sorry,” he said to it, then to Kiyomi, “They’re beautiful.”

“I think so, too.” Kiyomi’s voice was gruff. He nodded that they should carry on walking, and they continued at a slow pace. “We feed them, exercise them, groom them, talk to them, sing to them... whatever’s necessary to keep them happy. Every bird has its own unique personality. You’ll learn to tolerate the bad-tempered ones. We each have our favourites, but this here is His Majesty’s most prized bird...”

They stopped in front of a male goshawk, its wings and back the dark grey of thunderclouds, its chest fluffed white and striped with black barring. Haunting golden eyes gazed at them with steady patience.

“Magnificent,” Hiromasa whispered.

The goshawk turned its head and shifted on its perch. Silver bells rang at its feet.

Kiyomi grinned at him. “I’ll start you on the more basic tasks first, cleaning out the mews, feeding the birds, things like that. Let them get to know you. In a couple of weeks I’ll check how good your technique is for flying them, and we can go from there.”

Hiromasa turned to Kiyomi. “You’re giving me the position?”

“You can start next week. The birds like you. _He_ ,” a nod at the goshawk, “likes you, and that’s the most important thing.”

After another set of introductions, this time to his new colleagues, Hiromasa left the mews full of excited enthusiasm. He wanted nothing more than to share the news of his good fortune with Seimei, but Tonaga was the one waiting for him on the veranda.

“I knew my word would carry weight with the Senior Captain,” Tonaga said when Hiromasa told him of Kiyomi’s offer. “My heartiest congratulations, cousin. Of course you’ll have to wait until the Court Appointments to officially take the position, but no matter. Your credit and reputation will rise from now on.” He gave Hiromasa a wide, complacent smile.

Not even Tonaga’s smug superiority could dent Hiromasa’s joy. He bowed. “Thank you for recommending me.”

“We are family, Hiromasa!” Tonaga flung an arm around Hiromasa’s shoulders. “Come, let us celebrate. I’ve sent word to my house—a banquet is being prepared for tonight. I want to introduce you to my friends... and I have many pretty daughters who no doubt will be keen to make your acquaintance.”

Startled but pleased by this sudden attention, Hiromasa mumbled his gratitude and allowed his cousin to steer him towards the palace gates. His plans for lunch with Seimei would have to wait.


	6. Chapter 6

The sound of childish laughter roused Hiromasa from his muddled, cyclic thoughts. His head hurt, thumping with all the ferocity of a drum during an imperial procession, and the sour taste of wine lingered in his mouth. For all his fine clothes, he felt as unkempt as when he’d first arrived in the capital.

Outside, Lord Tonaga’s youngest children shrieked and chased one another around the garden. The cries pierced Hiromasa’s head and he groaned, rubbing at his temples as if he could alleviate the pain. Around him, several other guests slept off the excesses of last night. He recognised the Senior Assistant Minister of Popular Affairs and the Chief of the Bureau of Palace Storehouses as well as a number of gentlemen from the Ministry of War. The hall stank of wine and sweat and other unpleasant odours, and Hiromasa dragged himself to his feet, pulled on his cloak, and made his way out onto the veranda.

The sunlight hurt his eyes. He went to a bridgeway and leaned on the railing, staring into the garden stream. The children ignored him, but their nurse and a couple of maids hid behind their sleeves and sent him coy looks, giggling to one another. Hiromasa hoped he hadn’t made a fool of himself by flirting with any of Tonaga’s household women. He hoped he hadn’t flirted with Tonaga’s daughters, either. He had a vague recollection of the daughters seated behind a screen during the early part of the evening, and he recalled an embarrassing attempt at gallantry, but after that his memory became confused.

The banquet Hiromasa had thought was being held in his honour had turned out to be a birthday celebration for one of Tonaga’s sons. Hiromasa told himself the occasion wasn’t as important as the chance to meet influential men, so when Tonaga’s son rudely demanded a gift, Hiromasa had taken off his dark violet damask top-robe and given it to the young man. Of course this meant Hiromasa was woefully underdressed for the rest of the festivities, which only served to emphasise his rustic background.

Not that it mattered; once the guests had started on the second round of drinking, they forgot to make pointed comments about countrified gentlemen and called for music and song. Hiromasa seized the opportunity. Producing Ha Futatsu, he played several popular court tunes and finished with the melody he’d composed at Seimei’s house. Everyone praised his talent and plied him with drinks. Though the attention was welcome, Hiromasa was also bewildered by it. Less than a week ago he’d been a nobody, and now he was part of the celebrations of the most senior member of his family.

When the hour of the Sheep came to a close, Hiromasa had tried to leave. Tonaga insisted that he stayed. Thinking of Seimei and the shikigami waiting for him, Hiromasa repeated his wish to go home.

Tonaga looked at him with polite amazement. “This is your home!”

“But...” Hiromasa wavered. The other guests cried for him to stay, called on him to play the flute again. Unable to disappoint anyone, Hiromasa accepted another cup of wine and decided to stay a little longer. “But after the hour of Monkey, I’m going home.”

So much for that. Hiromasa couldn’t even remember reaching the middle of the hour of the Monkey. He closed his eyes against the glare of the sun reflected from the stream and drooped against the railing. What must Seimei think of him?

Guilt gnawed at him. He hadn’t seen Seimei at all, not even the slightest glimpse, since that embarrassing misunderstanding two nights ago. Hiromasa bit his lip. He was a bad house-guest and an even worse friend. He should at least have sent Seimei a note explaining his whereabouts last night. The shikigami would have been worried. He hated the thought of causing them even the smallest concern.

He stood straight and breathed deeply to clear his head. Today was the rest day. It was still early. Perhaps if he left now, he could be back at Seimei’s estate before the household woke up.

Hiromasa went in search of his cousin. Tonaga was still asleep, so Hiromasa wrote a short letter of thanks before he left. No one offered to find him a carriage or suggested that he borrowed a horse, so Hiromasa began the journey across the city on foot. The morning was fresh, the sun pleasant on his back, and the walk cleared away the cobwebs of his hangover. He took out Ha Futatsu and played a jaunty tune as he went, earning himself a sweet roll and an orange for his breakfast from an appreciative maidservant sweeping outside the gate of another household.

His fingers sticky with juice, the hems of his under-robes dusty from his trek, feeling a little hot and damp with effort, Hiromasa made his way up Omiya Avenue. The palace loomed alongside of him to the left, and he was about to turn onto Nijo Avenue when he spotted a familiar undecorated ox-cart drawing up outside the Taiken Gate.

“Seimei!” Hiromasa picked up his skirts and ran, careless of the sight he must present to the guards at the gate.

Seimei paused, a paper bag held in one hand, his face devoid of expression. He didn’t even return Hiromasa’s beaming smile, but was good enough to linger outside the gate a moment longer while Hiromasa caught his breath and mopped his brow with a sleeve. Stiff and formal, Seimei fixed his gaze on a distant point down Omiya Avenue and said, “I heard about your appointment as an imperial falconer. Congratulations.”

Hiromasa winced, guilt twisting more painfully than the stitch in his side. “I wanted to apologise. Not just for last night, but for the night before that.”

Seimei looked at him with mild curiosity. “Indeed.” The word held all the warmth of a late autumn breeze. “Walk with me, Lord Hiromasa.”

Hiromasa followed him through the Taiken Gate. Seimei walked at a brisk pace. Hiromasa trotted alongside, marshalling the words of his apology. “I’m sorry I didn’t send a letter to excuse myself last night. My cousin insisted that I go to his house for a banquet, and he had terrible wine and important guests, and I played Ha Futatsu for them, and then there was more of the wine, and it really was very bad wine...”

He risked a glance at Seimei and saw a flicker of amusement. Encouraged, Hiromasa continued, “I tried to leave, but Tonaga told me to stay. It was a boring party with the worst wine I’ve ever tasted, and I’m very sorry, Seimei. I suffered a lot, so please don’t be too angry with me.”

Seimei turned his head, ostensibly to cough into his sleeve, but it sounded suspiciously like stifled laughter.

Hiromasa moved closer. “And I’m sorry for the night before. For implying—for, uh... for throwing myself at you.”

Mirth fully under control now, Seimei raised an eyebrow at him.

Some of Hiromasa’s confidence ebbed away. He lowered his voice and dropped the flippancy for seriousness. “I didn’t want to seem gauche and provincial with you. I wanted to impress you. I wanted...” He exhaled, took another breath and rushed on: “You’re older and wiser and I feel like I have nothing to offer you in exchange for all your kindness.”

Seimei gave a disdainful sniff but slowed his footsteps. “Why should it need to be about exchange?”

Hiromasa lifted his hands in a helpless gesture. “Because that is the way of things. Even in Musashi, but especially so here. Unless,” he added, an unwelcome thought occurring to him, “unless you’re a monk.”

Seimei chuckled. “I am not a monk.”

“Good. I mean... good.” Hiromasa blushed and tucked his hands into his sleeves. “I want to offer you more than music.”

“Your friendship is enough.”

Hiromasa looked at him, held his gaze. “Not for me.”

Seimei’s lips parted. He took a deep breath and turned his head, lashes sweeping down to hide his eyes. The faintest trace of colour touched his cheeks and then leached away. “I...” He stopped, looked into Hiromasa’s eyes. Smiled. “I am going to visit His Eminence Former Emperor Yozei. Would you care to accompany me?”

“Ah?” Hiromasa found himself leaning forward, snared by the golden gleam of Seimei’s eyes. _Gold?_ Hiromasa blinked, shook his head. His thoughts felt a little fuzzy, then they snapped back into focus. “Seimei. Don’t change the subject. I’m trying to apologise and tell you how I feel at the same time, and that’s difficult. I should be doing it with poetry and long elegant letters, not standing in a palace courtyard like a fool.”

Seimei drew back, looking at him in surprise. “How intriguing.”

“Intriguing? I can think of many ways to describe this situation, but—” The words froze in Hiromasa’s throat as Seimei came close and touched him, put long fingers to one side of his face and held him steady.

“Look at me,” Seimei said softly, commanding. “Look into my eyes.”

Hiromasa stared at him. Another glint of gold. A tickle at his senses, a clouding of his thoughts. He made a disgruntled sound and looked away, an odd disquiet dropping from him and fading. Glancing back, he saw Seimei staring at him in disbelief.

“What? What is it?” Hiromasa lifted a hand to check his court cap was still on correctly. “Seimei, what did I do?”

Seimei clutched his bag to the front of his dress cloak, crumpling the paper against the black silk. He looked distracted, frowning in confusion. “You should never look a fox directly in the eyes. They have the power to make you forget.”

It seemed a funny thing to say. Hiromasa laughed. “I promise I won’t look into the eyes of any foxes I might encounter. Which is unlikely, but since you—” He stopped, realisation biting. “Seimei. Do half-foxes have the same power?”

“Yes.” The answer was nothing more than a breath.

Hiromasa gazed at him. “So you really are—”

Seimei closed his eyes for a brief moment. “Yes.”

“Did you—” Hiromasa hesitated, uncertain as to whether he’d just imagined the last few moments, “did you just try to make me forget?”

“Yes.” Colour blazed across Seimei’s face. He looked up, expression caught between contrite and embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Hiromasa. I shouldn’t have done that. Shouldn’t have even tried it. It was wrong.”

Now Hiromasa was curious. “It didn’t work, did it?”

“No.” Seimei stood rigid with tension but managed a self-mocking smile. “And I don’t know why. You must be immune to me.”

Hiromasa gave him a cheerful grin. “But that’s good, right? At least you know my attraction for you is genuine and not based on fox-magic.”

Seimei made a strangled noise that Hiromasa interpreted as agreement. He clapped his hands together. “Well, then—if the invitation to visit His Eminence the Former Emperor Yozei still stands, I would be delighted to accompany you.”

They resumed walking, Seimei looking slightly dazed. Hiromasa kept up the conversation. “Some of the hawks in my care belong to His Eminence. I’d be glad of the opportunity to discuss the birds with him... although I believe my mode of dress is far too casual for an appointment with a Former Emperor.”

“His Eminence will not care.” Seimei cast a sidelong look at Hiromasa’s pale grey and white under-robes beneath the black court cloak. “What happened to the violet damask?”

“I was obliged to give it as a birthday gift to Tonaga’s son last night. The young man is insufferable. My only consolation is that the colour makes him look sallow and much older than his years.”

“A minor victory,” said Seimei, his smile restored, “but no less pleasing. This way, Hiromasa—it will not do to keep His Eminence waiting.”


	7. Chapter 7

Seimei had recovered his equilibrium by the time they arrived at the side-palace inhabited by Yozei. Tucked away at the back of the internal palace complex, Yozei was accorded the respect due to his position but also kept far from the centre of power. The palace was walled with a high fence that offered only glimpses of the building within, and the single gateway was festooned with spells and inscribed with Buddhist sutras.

The guards on duty outside the gate retreated a safe distance when Seimei began checking the wooden taboo tags and taking down the paper spells, replacing them with fresh ones from inside the bag. When all the spells had been exchanged, he signalled the guards. They went inside a hut and brought out a brazier, set it in front of Seimei, and backed away again. Seimei deposited the paper bag and its contents on the brazier and stood patiently while it burned, the flames leaping up with sudden, violent heat.

Looking between the nervous guards and Seimei’s serene expression, Hiromasa watched the ritual with amazement. “Why all these precautions? I remember there was some old scandal about His Eminence being unsound in mind, but that was a very long time ago. Surely all this effort is excessive?”

“Excessive.” Seimei’s lips twitched into a smile. When the bag and the spells had been reduced to ash, he turned from the brazier and unlatched the heavy gate. He gave Hiromasa a brief, amused look. “Former Emperor Yozei is a murderer.”

The idea of speaking to His Eminence suddenly lost its appeal. Hiromasa remained rooted to the ground on the safe side of the threshold. “What?”

“He killed people for sport,” Seimei said, and stepped through the gate, holding it open. “Are you coming?”

“Ah.” Hiromasa tried to think of a believable excuse. Nothing came to mind, and he couldn’t disappoint Seimei again. Taking a deep breath and screwing up his courage, Hiromasa hopped over the threshold and into the Former Emperor’s palace garden. He squashed himself behind Seimei and looked around, expecting to see signs of evil—dead trees, perhaps, or dozens of crows cawing from the verandas, or a stream running red with blood, but he saw nothing more sinister than a couple of elderly servants having a slow conversation as they leaned on their spades over a flowerbed.

It all seemed rather normal. Hiromasa leaned closer to Seimei and whispered, “How many people did His Eminence murder?”

“Dozens.” Seimei kept his tone neutral, his features settled into a radiant calm. They walked through the garden towards the main hall. “It’s impossible to know how many, exactly. He doesn’t always recall what he did—what he does—during his attacks of madness.”

Hiromasa swallowed. “Then he really is insane.”

“Sometimes, yes.”

“I’m not afraid,” Hiromasa said.

Seimei stopped and looked at him, expression serious. “It’s not a question of fear, but of understanding.” He exhaled, laid a hand on Hiromasa’s arm. “His Eminence developed a taste for killing at a young age. At first he pitted animals against one another, but once he became emperor he realised he had access to greater power. He took pleasure in watching executions and devised new methods of killing criminals. It wasn’t enough. He started killing innocents—pageboys, maidservants, gentlewomen, his retainers. Imagine it, Hiromasa: the Emperor, divinely sanctioned, a living god, committing the most vile and unforgiveable sins.”

Horror and pity rose inside Hiromasa. “I never knew such terrible things had happened.”

“The full details were kept from most of the court. The Great Ministers of the time took action to prevent more deaths. They removed His Eminence from the throne by force, and for a while the shock of it seemed to calm his madness. But then the killings began again.” Seimei shifted his gaze towards the hall. “He is guarded at all times. Only in exceptional circumstances is he permitted to leave this enclosure. His Eminence will never be free of his pollution, but the irony is that with every death he caused, his own life has lengthened by the span of a year.”

“So horrible!” Hiromasa put a hand to his mouth and shuddered. “Why must you attend on him? Can’t another yin yang master do it?”

Seimei’s smile was sad. “He is my friend. I do this gladly.”

“Your—” Hiromasa stared after him as Seimei continued towards the main hall. “Seimei! Wait for me.” He ran to catch up, not wanting to be left alone in the palace grounds. “Seimei. Maybe His Eminence wouldn’t be interested in talking to someone like me. Maybe I should just go home and—”

He broke off when a small, elderly man shuffled out onto the veranda and peered at them. The old man wore white, but not even the thick layered silks could disguise the bird-like slenderness of his build. His hair was white, a dry, crackling halo cut short around his head. His mouth was a thin gash, his nose hooked, and his eyes glittered like chips of polished obsidian.

Seimei bowed. Hiromasa followed his example, a frisson of anxious fright creeping up his spine. When they straightened, Hiromasa fought the urge to shrink back beneath the intensity of Yozei’s gaze.

“Who’s this?” Yozei’s attention turned to Seimei. “He’s not a doctor, is he? I hate doctors. I told them to poison the last doctor who bothered me. Don’t suppose they did. Guardsmen these days have no balls.” The Former Emperor stared at Hiromasa. “Do you have balls, son?”

Hiromasa’s mouth dropped open. Conscious of how undignified he must look, he hurried to respond. “Ah, yes, Your Eminence. And no, I am not a doctor.”

“Delighted to hear it. Seimei, answer the damn question. Who is he?”

Seimei bowed again. “Your Eminence, allow me to present Minamoto no Hiromasa, late of Musashi and as of yesterday appointed as an imperial falconer. He is also your great-grandnephew, the son of Former Prince Katsuakira.”

“Katsuakira? The boy who got himself exiled?” Yozei cackled, revealing several missing teeth. “Punished for some nonsense over that conniving Sugawara minister, as I recall. Exiled before he could defend himself. He’d have only made it worse if he had talked, though. Good-looking boy but stupid and gullible. Suppose that’s why the Sugawara supporters picked him. High-ranking and as stupid as a block of wood.”

Hiromasa blinked, appalled by Yozei’s bluntness but also recognising the truth of the old man’s words. His father had been an expert archer and a competent musician, but those were his only real accomplishments.

“What are you waiting for? Come up here. Can’t be doing standing about in the cold. Toxic fumes might get me. I can see them, you know.” Yozei did a slow turnabout on one foot and shambled indoors, white robes dragging behind him.

Seimei sprang up the steps onto the veranda, Hiromasa trailing in his wake. They entered the main hall, which was bare of any decoration but white standing curtains and white-painted lattice screens. Yozei came to a halt in the middle of the room and stared absently at a spot on the far wall.

“Katsuakira,” he said after a moment, his voice musing. “Always had some sympathy for him. Made a scapegoat, he was. His damn family. My damn family.” He tutted. “Still, doesn’t change the fact that he was stupid. I’ve encountered pheasants with more sense.”

“Hiromasa is unlike his father,” Seimei said. “Except in looks, of course.”

Yozei snorted. “Of course you would notice that.”

Seimei’s eyes flashed, half in amusement, half in warning. “I notice many things.”

“Don’t give me that.” Yozei jabbed a finger at him. “You like them pretty and stupid. You can’t stand it when they ask questions. The only reason you answer my questions is because I’m a Former Emperor and if you didn’t answer me, I’d have you strangled to death in the main courtyard.”

A peaceable smile curved Seimei’s lips. “I answer your questions because I like you, Your Eminence.”

“You’re the only person who does.” Yozei shuffled past, patting Seimei on the shoulder. “The only person who’ll risk so much pollution to sit and chat with me week after week. Not even the Buddhist priests dare speak to me directly, you know.”

Seimei nodded, turning to follow the Former Emperor through into a study overlooking an empty, gravelled courtyard. “I know.”

Yozei lifted his hands. “Thus I’m denied the only thing that retired emperors can ever really look forwards to—a luxurious cloistered life in a monastery. They won’t even let me go off to some nice hermitage in the mountains. I loved those mountains when I was emperor. I could hide for days, hunting boar and slaughtering deer—how the Great Ministers wept whenever they found me slicing open a pretty little sika! Ah, yes, those were the good old days. How I would love to live in the mountains again.”

“We’ve discussed this before, Your Eminence.” Seimei spoke firmly. “There are wilder things than you in the mountains. If you were to chance upon one of them...”

Yozei sighed. “Yes, yes, I would turn into a demon and destroy the capital. Though that does sound like fun.”

“Not for me.” Seimei gave Yozei a stern look. “I would have to kill you.”

Yozei grinned, and suddenly there was real malice in his expression. “Not if I killed you first, Abe no Seimei.”

Tension snapped between them, Seimei still and poised, Yozei with an unholy gleam in his eyes. Alarmed, Hiromasa stepped forward, offering himself as a distraction. He bowed again when Yozei looked at him. “Your Eminence, as Lord Seimei just told you, I have recently had the honour of being appointed to the position of imperial falconer. I met with Senior Captain Kiyomi yesterday and had the privilege of being introduced to His Majesty’s birds. I understand part of my duties will also be to care for Your Eminence’s birds. I had hoped for the chance to discuss your hawks with Your Eminence, so I can endeavour to give them the best possible care and attention.”

Yozei seated himself on a cushioned dais. “My hawks.” Pride blazed in his features. “My birds are superior to the Emperor’s creatures. I suppose Kiyomi didn’t let you set foot in my mews, did he?”

“No, Your Eminence.” Hiromasa and Seimei knelt on the floor a respectful distance from Yozei.

“Good. I don’t like my birds disturbed. Don’t like the thought of them getting too accustomed to their handlers. Hawks aren’t pets. They’re killers. Coddle them like children and they become soft. Have you ever seen a wild hawk hunt? They’re cruel. Vicious. Captive hawks should be trained as if they’re still wild.”

Hiromasa nodded. “Thank you for your guidance, Your Eminence.”

“Haven’t finished, boy!” Yozei rapped on the dais with his bony knuckles. An ancient manservant entered. “Send a message to the Senior Captain of the Emperor’s Chamber. I want my birds brought here at once.”

The servant bowed and went off without a sound.

“Kiyomi hates taking out my birds. They bite.” Yozei cackled. “They try to peck out the eyes of their handlers. Taught them how to do it myself.”

Hiromasa flicked Seimei a worried glance, but Seimei seemed unperturbed by the conversation.

Yozei settled into the cushions. “Tell me, Seimei, did you ever find out the truth of that matter with the Lady of Sewing and that Clothing Attendant?”

“Indeed I did, Your Eminence...”

Hiromasa sat forgotten for the next quarter hour while Seimei passed on titbits of gossip interspersed with the latest decisions of ministers both great and small, along with reports from the provinces and the occasional item of news from around the capital. Yozei showed a lively interest, asking questions and venturing opinions, and seemed very much like an ordinary man.

His attention wandering, Hiromasa glanced around the room. It looked like any other study belonging to a nobleman... except for the scratches gouged into the floor. Hiromasa stared, his heart pounding and his breath hitching. An effort had been made to polish over the scratches, but there they remained. Not animal scratches, either. Hiromasa swallowed his queasiness and tried to turn his attention back to Seimei’s light, inconsequential chatter.

The elderly servant reappeared and murmured that the birds had arrived. Yozei sat up straight, his eyes bright with eagerness, and gave orders that the handlers should come through to the courtyard. He rocked with laughter as five of Hiromasa’s colleagues trooped into the square, their arms held stiff, each with a bird clutched tight to their wrists. Two of the men had blood drying on their faces, their foreheads and cheeks scored red by talons and bruised by pecks.

Hiromasa exchanged looks with his colleagues, who all wore expressions of glum resignation. They bowed, keeping the hawks lifted high.

Yozei chuckled. “My beautiful birds.” He gestured for Hiromasa to rise. “Go, look at them. Study them at your leisure.”

Hiromasa got to his feet and went down into the courtyard. A sparrowhawk at the end of the line screeched and tried to launch itself from its handler’s wrist. The creance attached to its jesses prevented it from moving far, and the bird dropped down, wings beating, shrieking in anger as it tried to right itself.

Its cries disturbed the other birds, three peregrines and a merlin, which turned their heads and regarded the sparrowhawk. One peregrine fluffed its feathers and settled its wings. The merlin opened its beak and gaped. The two other peregrines uttered sharp, annoyed sounds, one dancing along its handler’s arm and snapping.

Keeping his movements calm and non-threatening, Hiromasa went closer. He admired the birds’ plumage, comparing them with His Majesty’s hawks. Yozei’s birds were leaner, which made them appear more eager to fly and hunt. The peregrines especially seemed more handsome than the Emperor’s falcons.

The sparrowhawk screeched again and righted itself. Now it ducked its head, still flapping its wings, and jabbed its beak at its handler’s wrist. The man remained blank-faced, his flesh protected by a thick layer of rolled fabric. Frustrated, the sparrowhawk tore at the cloth, attacking its blue jesses until the silver bells jangled in discord. It creeled, beak flashing again and again, and began to gnaw at its own leg.

Horrified by the bird’s distress, Hiromasa moved to prevent it. The sparrowhawk reared up and snatched at him, almost biting his finger. It stooped, wings raised in threat, then resumed attacking its leg. Hiromasa looked at its handler, who kept his gaze fixed ahead of him. No help there. Concerned for the bird’s well-being, Hiromasa fumbled in his cloak and drew out Ha Futatsu. Perhaps a tune would distract the sparrowhawk. He set the flute to his lips and began to play.

The bird squawked, lifted its head. Its eyes shone. Hiromasa continued to play, summoning tunes from memory, balancing soothing melodies with more jaunty rhythms. The sparrowhawk bobbed its head, creeled again, then settled with a final flick of its wings. Hiromasa carried on playing, conscious of all five birds watching him. They seemed to enjoy his performance, their luminous eyes turned in his direction as he walked back and forth along the line of handlers.

By the time he’d finished playing, one of the peregrines had fallen asleep. The other birds sat quiet and docile. The handlers’ expressions were masks of pleased surprise, and even Yozei looked delighted.

“Take them back to their mews,” he ordered. “Get Kiyomi to take a look at the sparrowhawk’s leg. He shouldn’t be so hungry or angry that he needs to gnaw at himself like that. See to it, or I’ll have your head. You, Hiromasa—good thinking. Heard that His Majesty’s birds don’t mind their handlers singing to them now and then. Always thought it was a stupid idea, but that flute seems to work. Don’t need my birds to be vicious all the time, not with themselves or each other, anyway. I want you to take extra special care of my hawks, understand? Play to them every day when you’re on duty.”

Hiromasa bowed. “Yes, Your Eminence.”

After the birds and their handlers left, Yozei’s mood seemed to dip. He resumed his conversation with Seimei, but started to lose track of his words. He spent longer staring at the courtyard, and Hiromasa began to feel awkward. Seimei’s composure remained untroubled, but his gaze was watchful. At length Seimei rose to his feet and approached the Former Emperor’s dais.

“Your Eminence, I believe it’s time.”

Yozei huddled in his robes. “What? Go away.”

“Your Eminence...” Seimei moved nearer, and Yozei lashed out.

Hiromasa gasped, starting to his feet, but Seimei drew back and avoided Yozei’s wild, flailing attack. The Former Emperor unbalanced himself and sprawled on the cushions, panting in distress. He sounded more animal than human, and his fingers were hooked like claws. Hiromasa looked towards the scratch-marks on the floor and realised Yozei must have made them during bouts of his madness.

“Hush,” Seimei murmured, sitting on the dais and laying his hands on Yozei. “Hush, Your Eminence. Let me take the pollution from you.”

Yozei uttered a cry of despair.

Hiromasa jumped when someone tugged at his sleeve. He turned to see the elderly manservant beside him. “Come with me, my lord. It’s better to wait for Lord Seimei elsewhere. His Eminence doesn’t like visitors to witness the exorcisms.”

“Exorcism?” Hiromasa repeated, curious despite himself. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Seimei with one hand on the floor, the other pressing down across Yozei’s back. The Former Emperor was twisted in an unnatural position, eyes bulging, head snapping from side to side. Spittle flew from his mouth and, as Hiromasa watched in horrified fascination, Yozei sank his teeth into one of the cushions.

The servant pulled across a screen to block the view. From the study came the soft, relentless sound of Seimei chanting.

Hiromasa took a breath and exhaled. He walked a few paces then stopped, turning. “How often does this happen?”

The manservant shrugged. “Depends. His Eminence’s mood wanders so often. Sometimes Lord Seimei attends him only once a month; at other times, like now, it’s once a week. When His Eminence is very disturbed, we have orders from His Majesty the Emperor to demand Lord Seimei’s constant presence.”

“It looks exhausting for them both.”

“It is. His Eminence will sleep for the rest of the day and well into tomorrow. As for Lord Seimei, he tends to absent himself from court for some time following an exorcism.” The servant cast a look towards the screen when a thin wail erupted from the study. “We are grateful for Lord Seimei’s intervention. Without him, all of us who reside with His Eminence would be forced to wear taboo tags every time we stepped out of this side-palace. Lord Seimei takes on the burden of sin so we don’t have to share in it.”

The wail crept up, the note sliding higher and louder. Hiromasa winced, put his hands up to cover his ears. The servant looked unconcerned. Suddenly the cry broke off. Silence spread outwards, bringing with it a sense of peace.

“It’s over for now,” the servant said. He bowed to Hiromasa. “Excuse me, my lord. I must attend His Eminence.”

“Of course.” Hiromasa ventured to peer around the screen when the servant hurried to fuss over his unconscious master. He saw Seimei leaning over Yozei, stroking the shock of white hair back from the Former Emperor’s slack features. Seimei said something to the servant then rose, shook out his sleeves, and stepped down from the dais. He left the room without looking back.

“We must leave now,” Seimei said without breaking his pace. “I apologise for His Eminence. Most of the time he’s exceptionally good company.”

Hiromasa hurried after him. They went out into the garden. The gate swung open by itself with such force that wood-splinters were flung into the air. Hiromasa yelped. He looked at Seimei, noticing that beneath the sunlight, Seimei’s eyes had gone completely black. There was an odd stillness to him, as if he was trying to keep Yozei’s polluted energy in check.

The guards outside the side-palace moved away when Seimei and Hiromasa emerged. The gate slammed shut by itself, rattling the taboo tags and paper spells.

“The servant said you do this once a week or more.”

“Yes.” A shade of his old self broke through the blankness, and Seimei gave him a weary smile. “It’s the simplest way to control his madness. Years ago someone suggested poisoning His Eminence, but no one dared to do it. One cannot just kill a divinely-sanctioned emperor, not even when that emperor has been removed from power. It is not for commoners to decide the fate of such a person.”

Hiromasa considered this. “Is His Eminence afflicted by demons?”

Seimei shook his head. “It would make things easier if he were. Demons I can deal with, as could most of my colleagues in the Bureau of Divination. But this is different.” They turned a corner and headed directly across the outer palace grounds towards the Taiken Gate. “Madness can sometimes be holy,” Seimei continued. “There is the possibility that His Eminence is god-touched—that his madness and cruelty serve some other purpose. I don’t know. No one knows. This situation is unprecedented. Until an answer is revealed, I do all I can for him and absorb the excess pollution.”

“How do you get rid of it?” Hiromasa asked.

“Magic. Bathing in running water. Sleeping beneath the full moon.” Seimei’s expression blanked again, and his tone was curt. He seemed to struggle with himself for a moment. “I’m sorry. I will be myself again very soon, I assure you. This rudeness is only temporary.”

“That’s all right.” Hiromasa noticed the way that everyone—from servants to grand nobles—scattered before them, clearing out of their way as if they carried a big black thundercloud with them. Maybe they did, and he just couldn’t see it because he was inside it. The thought was worrying. Hiromasa changed the subject, hoping to distract Seimei. “His Eminence’s hawks are very fine. I shall enjoy working with them. They seemed to like me, or at least they liked Ha Futatsu. I’m so pleased the sparrowhawk responded to the music.”

The guards at Taiken Gate stood aside and let them pass. As soon as they were outside the palace complex, Seimei’s temper seemed to improve. He gave Hiromasa an affectionate look. “Your presence could calm even the most restless spirit.”

Hiromasa slowed to a halt. “Seimei...”

Seimei stopped and faced him. “Until I safely rid myself of His Eminence’s pollution, I am required to live in seclusion. For the next few days I am under a taboo.” He sighed; managed a small smile. “Your new position and rank is a good thing, Hiromasa. If you would prefer to live with Lord Tonaga or in a house of your own, please don’t concern yourself with me.”

“I don’t like Cousin Tonaga’s house,” Hiromasa said. “Perhaps I will take a house sometime in the future, but until then I have a room at the palace. I don’t know where it is but I’m sure someone can tell me. I can stay there and trouble you no more.”

Seimei looked a little hurt. “You don’t trouble me.”

“Do I not?” Hiromasa asked, aware that perhaps his question was too delicate and most certainly ill-timed.

Faint colour washed Seimei’s face. He dropped his gaze.

“You saw an ally for me in the I Ching reading. A partner.” Hiromasa screwed up his courage. “Was it you?”

Expressionless once more, Seimei turned. “Perhaps. Or maybe it was one of Lord Tonaga’s daughters.” He began walking again, picking up speed.

Hiromasa watched him go. “I want it to be you.”

Though he was several feet away, Seimei heard. He paused, tilted his head, and gave Hiromasa a glittering look. “Then what are you waiting for?”


	8. Chapter 8

The weeks passed. Hiromasa settled into his duties at court, serving the birds of both His Majesty and His Eminence. He played the flute for them, and one time brought Genjou along in case they preferred the sound of a biwa, but His Eminence’s peregrines shrieked all through the tune until he gave up and returned to Ha Futatsu.

Senior Captain Kiyomi soon graduated him from cleaning out the mews to feeding and exercising the birds. The first time he flew one of the Emperor’s gyrfalcons, Hiromasa almost shook with nerves. The bird was kind to him and returned straight away, creeling for the food held in his hand. On the second flight, the gyrfalcon refused to come back, and Hiromasa trembled. Kiyomi ordered another bird brought out and they continued with the exercise, until at length the gyrfalcon swooped down and landed on its perch, showing no remorse for causing Hiromasa such anxiety.

Kiyomi took to asking Hiromasa to carry messages around the palace, sometimes sending him to accompany one of his higher-ranking colleagues. Aware that Kiyomi was helping to introduce him to men of power and influence, Hiromasa thanked him profusely. Kiyomi waved away his gratitude with an embarrassed laugh. “Junior sixth rank is far below you, Hiromasa. You deserve better than this. Until one of the Great Ministers realises your worth and puts your name forward for a more appropriate position at the Court Appointments, I intend to make the most of your talents with the hawks.”

“Even if I become a Grand Counsellor, I will still come back and play Ha Futatsu for the birds,” Hiromasa said.

Kiyomi chuckled. “Of all the promises I’ve ever heard, yours is the only one I believe.”

The imperial falcons were fed a variety of livestock bred specifically for the purpose in and around the city. Lord Tonaga, who had continued to take an interest in his cousin’s fortunes, proved very helpful in steering Hiromasa towards the merchants who offered the best quality feed. Hiromasa visited each merchant personally and inspected the condition of the animals, asked questions about the type of food the creatures had been raised on, and hand-picked the rabbits, quail, rats, and chickens destined to be meals for the imperial falcons.

Tonaga declared himself delighted with Hiromasa’s progress, and presented him with a set of fine red-lacquered jars in which to keep the imperial falcons’ feed.

This extra attention to their diet, along with the soothing music Hiromasa played for them, soon resulted in the birds looking more handsome than ever. Senior ministers heard about the marvels being wrought within the imperial mews and sent messengers to discover the secret. The Emperor ordered a selection of birds made ready for a hunting trip, and afterwards praised Kiyomi for his diligence and care. Kiyomi bowed and said he could claim none of the credit that was due to Hiromasa—and thus Hiromasa had his first introduction to His Majesty and spoke his first words with his uncle.

The exchange was noted by everyone who was anyone, and from that day forward, Hiromasa’s star rose steadily at court. Invitations poured in. Letters arrived at every hour of the day, some requesting his assistance in court matters, others suggesting marriage alliances, but the majority offering more casual, carnal liaisons. He found himself quite bewildered by the fuss, and although some of the ladies and gentlemen vying for his favours were said to be very attractive and most accomplished, Hiromasa longed for only one man.

Seimei had held himself apart ever since their meeting with Yozei. Despite Tonaga’s perpetual blandishments and demands, Hiromasa had refused to move out of Seimei’s house. Neither had he taken a house in the city, though several impoverished courtiers offered him their rundown estates on Nijo and Sanjo Avenues. Whenever he was off-duty, Hiromasa left the palace and spent as much time as possible with Seimei and the five shikigami. He hoped that, with time, Seimei would unbend a little and permit him greater intimacy, but though they dined together almost every night and sat drinking on the veranda until the moon started to sink towards dawn, Seimei continued to address Hiromasa as a valued friend and nothing more.

It was all very infuriating. Hiromasa tried hinting, at first delicately, then indelicately, but Seimei seemed oblivious. One night Hiromasa went to Seimei and complained of feeling cold. Instead of suggesting that they sleep together for warmth, Seimei presented him with several layers of robes. Hiromasa had piled them on his bed in a fit of pique and sweated for the rest of the night.

It would be easier to give up and accept the attentions of one or several of his other suitors, but Hiromasa could summon little more than polite interest in them. Thoughts of Seimei made him quiver with unsatisfied wanting; Seimei’s presence made him weak and happy and nervous and full of confidence. No one else even came close to inspiring similar devotion. Besides, Hiromasa liked a challenge. A few months ago he’d thought it impossible that he should go to the capital and make a place for himself at court, but now he had more than he’d dreamed of, more than his mother had hoped for. If he could achieve rank and position, he saw no reason why he couldn’t also win his heart’s desire.

After all, it wasn’t as if his interest was entirely one-sided. For all Seimei’s determination to treat him as a friend, Hiromasa had caught an increasing number of long, wistful looks aimed in his direction. Of course, whenever Hiromasa looked up boldly, ready to take advantage of the moment, Seimei would stare out into the garden or call for one of the shikigami. He never seemed flustered, but neither did he allow himself to slip back into the good-natured flirtatious manner he’d had at their first meeting.

Hiromasa bided his time, waiting for the right opportunity, his hopes enough to carry him through the disappointment he felt when he retired to bed alone. His hopes; and the recollection of those wistful looks alongside the treasured memory of one morning during the Fifth Month.

Seimei had returned from his weekly visit to Former Emperor Yozei, eyes black with pollution and his temper like waves hitting peaks and troughs. The shikigami withdrew into the northern wing of the house, but Hiromasa sat with him, not speaking, just offering silent solace, until darkness fell. It was the night of the full moon, and Seimei went out into the garden. He lay on the grass, absorbing the cleansing energy of the moon while Yozei’s pollution drained from him.

Unable to sleep, Hiromasa had gone out onto the veranda and watched over him. For a while Hiromasa played Genjou, touching the biwa’s strings with exquisite gentleness so the music was the barest wisp of sound. He nodded off, curled up beside the biwa, and woke just before dawn to find Seimei leaning close, long hair spilling down over his shoulders, his single under-robe clinging-damp with dew. Seimei’s eyes shone. They moved towards each other, still silent, both wanting. It was almost a kiss. Hiromasa felt Seimei’s warmth, the whisper of his breath—but then Seimei drew back, and the birds began to call the dawn chorus, and Hiromasa was left aching and clutching Genjou.

It really was frustrating.

By the middle of the Sixth Month, Hiromasa had had no less than nine conversations with His Majesty the Emperor and had attracted the notice of several prominent senior nobles of both the Left and the Right. The Great Ministers sent a chamberlain to visit Hiromasa’s room at the palace.

“Junior sixth rank is very irregular for a man of your breeding,” the chamberlain said, his mouth pursed. “Their Excellencies have made a thorough investigation of the nature of your late father’s crime and have concluded that, with hindsight, his punishment was more severe than the situation warranted. Though the decision of His Eminence the Late Emperor Daigo cannot be rescinded and your late father cannot regain the title he lost, Their Excellencies trust that you will be satisfied with a guarantee of advancement to lower junior fourth rank and the position of Commissioner at next year’s Appointments.”

When the news broke, Hiromasa found himself in even more demand than usual, with people tripping over themselves to push congratulations upon him. Overwhelmed by the attention, he fled the palace for the tranquillity of Seimei’s estate. Willow welcomed him home, taking his dress cloak and swapping it for something more informal. Still marvelling at his good fortune, Hiromasa joined the shikigami in their hall and enjoyed their restful presence.

Lilac and Saffron played the koto while the others conversed. Hiromasa remarked that the shikigami seemed to have improved their vocabulary in recent weeks, and the women exchanged glances and smiled.

“Because you talk to us,” Lilac said.

“Seimei doesn’t talk to you?” Hiromasa asked, surprised.

The shikigami giggled. “Sometimes,” said Lily. “But not often. Instead we read his moods.”

Hiromasa blinked. “You can read his mind?”

Camellia hid her laughter behind her sleeve, her eyes twinkling. “Mood, not mind. We can tell when he wants conversation and when he wants silence. Until you came to live with us, he mostly preferred silence. When you’re at the palace, it depends. Sometimes he talks, sometimes not.”

Something shifted, changed perspective, and Hiromasa drew in a sharp breath. He remembered with startling clarity the exchange between Seimei and Yozei, when the Former Emperor had said that Seimei didn’t like people who asked questions—and yet Seimei always answered any question Hiromasa put to him, even if the response was somewhat vague and nonsensical. He recalled, too, what Willow had said to him all those weeks ago. He hadn’t understood it at the time, but now...

He turned to her. “Miss Willow—do you remember when you told me I should be patient with Seimei? When you told me he is like you?”

“He is like shikigami.” She dimpled at him. “Much work to draw out, but worth the effort.”

Hiromasa exhaled on a soft laugh. “Yes. Yes, he is.” He smiled around at the women. “You all are.” He paused, not sure how to continue. “I...”

Willow nodded. “He is in the study.”

“Ah.” Hiromasa swallowed his nervousness.

Lilac handed him a wine-jar. Saffron gave him two cups. The shikigami smiled encouragement and drifted away, leaving him alone.

“Very well.” Hiromasa got to his feet, trying to ignore the knot of tension in his stomach and the flutter of anticipation in his throat. If even the shikigami were urging it, then it was high time he and Seimei were honest with one another. Not that Hiromasa had ever shied away from expressing his feelings, but perhaps he’d been too subtle, too concerned with losing his one true friend.

No more. He would declare himself, no matter what.

Hiromasa’s determination lasted as far as the threshold to Seimei’s study. There his bravery folded in on itself and slipped away like a paper doll borne on the breeze, and when Seimei looked up from his work and smiled, Hiromasa held out the wine-jar and cups and said, “I thought you might be thirsty.”

“How very kind. Thank you.” Seimei put aside his books.

Hiromasa sat opposite and poured the wine, trying to think of an innocuous subject, something—anything—that might help him bring the conversation around to their emotions.

“I heard about the chamberlain’s visit. A promise of promotion to fourth rank.” Seimei lifted his cup in a toast. “Congratulations. Soon you will be too high to associate with me.”

Hiromasa laughed, a short, nervous sound. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m being serious.” Seimei looked at him over the rim of the wine-cup. “My influence at court far exceeds my rank, and my quite nauseating wealth allows me far too much leeway, a fact that causes intense annoyance to most senior nobles. I am aware that our... relationship might be drawing to its natural close. It was my pleasure to help you find your feet, but once at court you found your own way, and that’s how it should be. From now on you should choose your friends carefully.”

Startled by this frank speech, Hiromasa put down his wine untouched. “I would never be as ungrateful as to cast you aside because of difference in rank!” He held Seimei’s gaze. “Seimei, we are friends. That means something to me.”

“And to me, but what is permissible for a provincial noble and a man of junior sixth rank is not necessarily permitted when one is elevated to fourth rank.” Seimei smiled slightly. “Some things are simply not done.”

“I don’t care.”

Seimei sighed. “Hiromasa, my association with Former Emperor Yozei could hurt you, and I will not allow that.” He dropped his gaze and said into his cup, “I care about you too much to see you harmed in even the slightest way.”

Hiromasa huffed out a breath. “Everyone at court knows we’re friends. No one remarks upon it. Cousin Tonaga and a few other nobles still insist you’re eccentric and dangerous, but to be honest, I think my refusal to leave you, to leave your house, I mean—your house and your companionship—I think people accept you a lot more than you think. Even with the whole pollution thing. Though that does still cause some concern. But it doesn’t bother me, and I live here, so I don’t see why it should bother anyone else.”

Seimei gave a small laugh. “You are such a good man, Hiromasa. You see the positive in everyone and everything.”

“And you don’t trust anyone.”

“True. I don’t.” Seimei took another sip of wine.

“Yet you asked me to trust you, when we first met.”

“I did.” A brief silence, and then Seimei raised an eyebrow, his expression mocking. “Well, then—I am contrary.”

“No,” said Hiromasa, his heart in his mouth. “I think you’re scared.”

Silence, much longer than before, stretched around them. Hiromasa began to wish he hadn’t said anything. He considered making a bolt for it, but why should _he_ run away?

“Well, well,” Seimei said at last, his tone mild. He put down his cup and folded his hands in his lap. “Are there any other facets of my character you wish to explore?”

“Seimei...” Hiromasa stifled a sigh of frustration. This was not going the way he wanted. “You’re a yin yang master. You can do anything—yet your only friends are an insane former emperor and me, and now you want to push me away.” He reached out, only to withdraw his hand, too uncertain to touch. “The day we met... why did you help me?”

Seimei sat motionless. He stared down into his wine. “I saw you coming. It was ordained—written in the stars and forecast in every form of divination I know. I waited for you. I wanted to see you. Wanted to know if someone so pure and with such good intentions could really exist. I didn’t believe it, you see. But there you were, and it was true, and the only other creature to recognise it was the demon at Suzaku Gate.”

“Demon?” Hiromasa repeated, feeling a little faint.

A smile. “Yes. Ha Futatsu is a demon’s flute. I told you the person at Suzaku Gate was very discerning. He would only give the flute to someone worthy of Ha Futatsu’s song.”

“A demon!” Hiromasa shook off the distraction and gazed at Seimei. “And you waited for me? You knew I’d be on Nishiki Road that day?”

“Yes.” Seimei made a small movement with his hands, uncaging his fingers, folding them together again. “No one would help you, and that infuriated me. Your own family rejected you, refused to see the goodness inside you, and I—I couldn’t stand it. I had to do something. Because you were different. The capital hadn’t contaminated you with its greed and ambition. I looked at you and saw hope. Brightness and optimism shone from you. You were pure and good and perfect in every way.”

Hiromasa could barely breathe. “And now?”

Seimei lifted his head. “And now I see the same qualities. The city hasn’t tainted you. It never will. An unpolluted soul is so rare, Hiromasa. So rare.”

Hiromasa held his gaze. “Is that why you won’t touch me?”

Seimei took a breath; let it out in a hiss. “I cannot trust myself.”

“You won’t pollute me.” Confident now, his courage rising, Hiromasa sat forward. “Seimei. I don’t care that you take on pollution from associating with His Eminence. I don’t care if you’re half-fox. I am willing. This is what I want—if you want it, too.”

Seimei sat completely still. “It’s not the fox part of my nature that concerns me.”

Hiromasa moved closer. He took Seimei’s hand and laid it within his own robes at the throat, inviting more. “Try it. Just once. We need not speak of it again if I displease you.”

A wondering laugh broke from Seimei. “More likely it is I who will displease you.”

“Never.” Hiromasa bent his head and kissed Seimei’s hand; pushed back the white and violet sleeves and pressed kisses to his wrist. “Never,” he said again, pulling Seimei towards him. “Never, Seimei, never.”


	9. Chapter 9

_Now_ his life was perfect.

Hiromasa returned to court ablaze with happiness, and if people whispered unkind things within his earshot about his choice of lover, he put it down to their own thwarted disappointment and ignored what they said.

Lord Tonaga said nothing at all and stopped inviting Hiromasa to stay with him. He also called on Hiromasa less, as did several of Tonaga’s friends. Not that this concerned Hiromasa in the slightest. His days were busy with the imperial hawks and visits to new acquaintances, and his nights were full of Seimei.

He refused to skimp on his palace duties and worked even harder with the birds lest anyone should say that being in love had distracted him from his tasks. Senior Captain Kiyomi commended him for his diligence and placed him in sole charge of the Emperor’s favourite hawks. When Former Emperor Yozei heard about the promotion, he demanded that Hiromasa should take sole charge of his birds, too.

Hiromasa arrived at the mews one morning to find Kiyomi looking worried.

“There’s something wrong,” the Senior Captain said, heavy brows drawn into a tight line. “His Majesty’s hawks seem sluggish. They don’t want to eat. They’re listless. Could you try playing them a tune, see if it’ll lift their spirits?”

“Of course.” Taking out Ha Futatsu, Hiromasa crossed the courtyard and entered the Emperor’s mews. The sight of the birds drooping from their perches or sitting forlorn upon the floor made Hiromasa’s heart ache. He hoped they weren’t ill. Bird diseases were often highly contagious and could wipe out the entire stock, but neither he nor his colleagues had noticed any signs of sickness before.

Hiding his concern, he walked up and down the mews, playing a few tunes. A couple of the birds responded feebly, turning their heads or rustling their wings, but the music had little effect. Not even when he played their favourite songs could he rouse them. He turned to see Kiyomi and another falconer standing in the doorway, anxiety weighing on their shoulders.

“Perhaps we should fly them,” the falconer said. “When all else fails, maybe exercise will do the trick.”

“Is there an animal doctor we can consult?” Hiromasa asked, tucking Ha Futatsu into his waist-sash beneath his cloak. “There must be someone in the capital that can recognise and treat these symptoms.”

Kiyomi shook his head. “I have the most experience of everyone in treating falcons, and I thought I’d seen all the bird diseases. Thought I knew them. But this one is beyond me. There’s been no sign of illness—nothing at all. This doesn’t make sense. The only thing I can think of is that the birds have been enchanted or cursed.”

Hiromasa looked at the birds with alarm. “Who would do such a cruel thing? Sir, we must make sure. We should send for a yin yang master. Send for all of them. If it’s a curse, they will know how to lift it.”

“Yes. Let’s try it.” Kiyomi gestured to the other falconer. “Run to the Bureau of Divination and request all the masters to come here at once.” The man bowed and dashed off. To Hiromasa, Kiyomi said, “In the meantime, we may as well see if the birds will fly. Help me move their perches outside.”

The hawks barely squawked in complaint as they were taken out into the courtyard, their perches arranged around the edge of the square. Hiromasa coaxed a gyrfalcon onto his padded wrist. The bird hunched over, shivering.

“Come on,” Hiromasa encouraged it. “Fly. Go on—fly!”

The gyrfalcon let out a cry and launched itself into the air. It flew only a few wing-beats before it plummeted to the ground. It struck the earth, gave a piteous shriek, then lay still.

“No.” Hiromasa crouched and picked up the bird. It didn’t stir. His eyes filled with tears and he cradled the lifeless body against his chest. He looked up when Kiyomi came over. “It’s dead, sir. It’s dead.”

Kiyomi looked stunned. “This is a disaster.”

From the south side of the courtyard came the sound of screeches and the flapping of wings. The noise got louder, disturbing the Emperor’s birds on their perches. Kiyomi shook his head, distracted. “His Eminence’s hawks are screaming to fly. I suppose it’s a blessing that his birds are untouched by this malaise. His Majesty is attached to his hawks, but not unreasonably so. His Eminence would probably kill us all if a single feather fell from one of his precious birds.”

The noise from Yozei’s mews continued unabated. Hiromasa got to his feet, still holding the dead gyrfalcon. “Maybe His Majesty’s birds should go back inside.”

“No. They stay out here until the yin yang masters have examined them.” Kiyomi turned in angry frustration at the increasing din from Yozei’s birds. “This is ridiculous. If they don’t come out, they’ll probably kill each other. Hiromasa, take the gyrfalcon indoors and wrap it in a bag—we’ll burn it later. Then come and help me with His Eminence’s insane birds.”

Kiyomi strode off across the courtyard while Hiromasa carried the dead falcon back into its mews. He stroked its head and the glossy feathers of its chest, saddened by the loss. If this was indeed a curse, he hoped Seimei and his colleagues could undo it before more birds perished.

He placed the gyrfalcon in a plain silk bag and wrapped it in its makeshift shroud. He lingered, reliving that awful moment when the bird had fallen from the sky, and then he heard a scream.

Hiromasa ran out of the mews and stopped, horror holding him still at the sight before him. Kiyomi was staggering across the courtyard, raw, ragged scratches covering his face and arms. His cap lay on the ground and his hair was half torn down, his cloak and robes rent. Half blinded by blood, he attempted to untether as many of the Emperor’s birds as possible. All the while, Yozei’s five hawks dived at the weakened, helpless imperial birds, picking them off one at a time, hurling them to the ground and tearing them open in a welter of blood and guts. A cacophony split the air, screeches of pain and shrieks of triumph. Kiyomi yelled for help, his voice desperate, panicked, and Hiromasa recovered his presence of mind.

He darted forward, pulling off his dress cloak and hurling it over three of the Emperor’s undamaged birds. He swung the cloak down and around, twisting it like a bag, bringing the birds down from their perches. The bells on their jesses rang and their creances twisted together. They moved feebly beneath the damask but seemed safe enough, hidden from the sight of Yozei’s hawks.

The merlin flew at him, shrieking defiance, and Hiromasa ducked. The falcon attacked the Emperor’s sparrowhawk, which tried to fly but found itself trapped by its creance. The two birds tussled on the ground. Hiromasa yelled at them, yanked off his court cap, and batted at the merlin. It turned and pecked him, flew at his face, and Hiromasa flung up his arms. The merlin beat against them, and Hiromasa threw himself forward, trapping the bird beneath the width of his heavy sleeves. He lay there, careful not to squash the merlin, until it stopped struggling.

Panting, Hiromasa looked around and saw Kiyomi had followed his example, covering a few more of the Emperor’s birds with his cloak. They had saved perhaps six or seven hawks. The rest lay dead, torn apart and scattered across the ground.

Yozei’s sparrowhawk and three peregrines lined up the roof of their mews, their beaks dipped red and gaping, crouching tight as if ready to fly to the attack again. Hiromasa sat up, slowly pulling his sleeves from around the merlin. The bird righted itself, gave him a bright-eyed look, then ran along the ground until it could take off. It joined Yozei’s other birds on the roof, looking down at the carnage they’d wrought.

Kiyomi was weeping as he stumbled to his feet and surveyed the destruction. Hiromasa checked on the Emperor’s sparrowhawk, which shivered with fright but otherwise didn’t move. He placed it gently on its perch and, keeping watch on Yozei’s birds, he opened his cloak to reveal the three birds he’d trapped inside it: a pair of gyrfalcons and the Emperor’s favourite bird, the male goshawk. He crooned something soothing, lifting the birds one at a time and settling them on their perches.

“Pollution,” Kiyomi said, his voice thick with tears. “This is unbearable. Unforgiveable.”

Hiromasa went over to the birds covered by Kiyomi’s cloak and examined them. “We saved seven of His Majesty’s birds, sir.”

“And thirteen are dead!” Kiyomi turned on him, wild-eyed. “Thirteen birds dead—slaughtered by five hawks! How is that even possible?” He spun, jabbing a finger at the roof of Yozei’s mews. “Those birds—they’re evil, as evil as their master. They’re polluted. A demon must have inspired them to kill His Majesty’s hawks. Yozei must have sent his pollution out to infect his birds. An attack on His Majesty’s hawks is an attack on His Majesty. This is the worst kind of pollution imaginable.” He dropped to his knees and covered his head with his hands, his body racked with sobs.

Hiromasa crouched to comfort him. At that moment, the falconer returned with a group of yin yang masters, and a cry of shock and dismay went up. The palace guards were summoned, and ministers and courtiers and pageboys and servants pushed and shoved through the main gate as rumour spread and more and more cries of horror echoed around the mews.

No one dared come forward and set foot in the polluted space of the courtyard. They remained on the veranda of the main hall, pointing at Yozei’s hawks and discussing in loud, anxious tones how five birds had managed to kill so many larger creatures.

“By means of a curse!” Kiyomi shouted, silencing the crowd. “Yozei cursed His Majesty’s hawks to become feeble and enchanted his own birds, giving them abnormal strength and speed. We tried—” he indicated himself and Hiromasa, “we tried so hard to save them. But how could we fight such a vile pollution?” His voice cracked, and he gave way to grief again. “My birds. My beautiful birds.”

As if mocking his distress, Yozei’s sparrowhawk uttered a chuckling cry.

Seimei pushed his way through the crowd and strode into the courtyard. He paused to gaze at Yozei’s birds lined up on the roof, then crouched to examine the pathetic remains of the Emperor’s hawks. He straightened and approached the men. Ignoring Kiyomi, he looked at Hiromasa. “What happened?”

Hiromasa told him the sequence of events, trying to keep a check on his emotions. “The Senior Captain believes His Eminence cursed His Majesty’s birds,” he said in closing. “Please, Seimei—is it true?”

Seimei said nothing. He paced around the surviving birds on their perches, going close to them then backing away. He looked again at Yozei’s hawks on the roof, then he knelt on the ground and made a careful study of one of the dead falcons. He felt the body, ran his forefinger through its guts, sniffed the flesh, tasted its blood. Then he rose to his feet and headed for the Emperor’s mews.

“Seimei?” Hiromasa started after him, but a commotion at the gate made him turn. Lord Tonaga and the Minister of the Right arrived, the Minister’s escort hurrying to catch up. Several more guards accompanied them, and once the Minister had had time to absorb the sight before him, he snapped out an order. All the guards present fanned across the courtyard and began to search the mews.

The Minister of the Right swept across the courtyard, Tonaga trotting at his side. “This is an outrage,” the Minster declared. “His Majesty’s birds attacked and destroyed by hawks belonging to His Eminence—it’s appalling! A terrible crime, a crime to shake the very foundation of the throne! Why did this happen—no, _how_ did this happen?”

“Poison.”

The word rang out, spread like a shockwave through the waiting crowd. His breath catching, Hiromasa turned to see Seimei emerge blank-faced from the mews carrying a red lacquered jar. Hiromasa shook his head, horror crawling over him, denial closing his throat. No. It couldn’t be. It was impossible.

Seimei walked into the middle of the courtyard and inverted the jar. A pile of rabbit carcasses dropped to the ground with a wet, rotten sound. The Minister of the Right flinched, disgust on his features.

Holding out the jar, Seimei indicated the glossy internal surface. “This has been treated with poison. Look.” He thrust the jar closer to the Minister of the Right. “See those scratches? Whoever prepared these jars was clever indeed. The poison lies beneath a protective layer. It took time for it to work through to the surface. Whoever used these jars was thorough and attentive, not just sluicing them out with water but cleaning them properly, scrubbing and drying each one. And it was that simple action—cleaning out the jars—that brought the poison to the surface. It infected the feed, killed the older birds, and left the others weak and defenceless.”

Kiyomi lifted his head, face slack with shock. “But His Eminence’s hawks—they were so vicious...”

“They’re wild,” Seimei said, his voice hard. “His Eminence trained them to be cruel. A wild creature knows when one of its kind is weak. It knows when it can kill. Do not blame His Eminence’s birds for acting according to their nature.” He tossed the lacquered jar aside. “There is no curse. The Emperor’s birds were poisoned.”

Seimei gave Hiromasa a brief, unreadable look and walked off.

“Poison...?” Kiyomi reached for the jar.

Guilt and horror crushed Hiromasa. The red lacquered jars belonged to him. They were his special feed jars—a gift given to him by Lord Tonaga! Appalled by the implication, he gazed at his cousin, helpless and frantic.

Tonaga stared at him, then very deliberately turned his back and made his way across the courtyard.

“Well!” snapped the Minister of the Right. “Poison or a curse, it makes no matter. Pollution is pollution, and an attack against His Majesty’s birds is still treason. An outrage of this magnitude will not go unpunished. Guards, arrest the imperial falconers!”


	10. Chapter 10

Hiromasa was confined to his room in the palace, the shutters locked from the outside and a guard posted in the aisle beyond the lattice screen. At first he had a steady stream of visitors offering their support and declaring their belief in his innocence. They told him that his colleagues had all been rounded up and imprisoned. Later, the Secretary Controller came, his expression sombre, and said that opinion was beginning to turn.

“Senior Captain Kiyomi has told the Great Ministers that the red lacquered jars belong to you,” the Secretary Controller murmured through the screen. “Your fellow falconers swear it’s true.”

Hiromasa curled his fingers through the open lattice. “It is true. The jars are mine. But I didn’t put poison in them. Why would I do that? I love working with the imperial hawks. I would never do anything to hurt them. The Senior Captain knows that. Everyone knows that!”

The Secretary Controller glanced along the corridor. “Kiyomi is almost deranged with grief. He loved those birds as if they were his own children. By accusing you, he sees a way to save his skin, and the others are following his example.” He leaned close. “Listen to me, Hiromasa. If you know of anyone else who might have had cause to poison His Majesty’s hawks, if you can think of any reason why this might have happened—speak out now.”

Hiromasa drew in a deep breath. “My cousin Lord Tonaga gave me the jars.”

The Secretary Controller looked surprised. “Why should he wish you harm?”

“I don’t know. But he was the one who gave me the jars.”

“Very well. I will talk to some people and see if we can get to the bottom of this before the trial.”

“Trial?”

The Secretary Controller nodded. “Tomorrow, at the hour of the Horse. His Majesty is shocked by the pollution engendered by the deaths of his hawks. Half of the Bureau of Divination is walking around the mews casting spells to absorb the dark energy. Your friend Lord Seimei attends His Eminence. Former Emperor Yozei broke down into a bestial fit when he was accused of killing His Majesty’s birds. By the way, he didn’t deny it.”

Hiromasa exhaled. “That poor old man.”

A snort. “He’s a murderer. Save your pity.” The Secretary Controller paused. “Have your wits about you tomorrow, unless you want to end your career at court the same way your father did. Remember, your father was a prince. You are not. If you’re found guilty, you’ll be executed.”

Shock buzzed through his head. Hiromasa leaned against the screen and sank to his knees, trembling as nausea swept through him. Dimly he heard the Secretary Controller walk down the corridor, steps fading into silence. Fear gripped him, a cold sweat breaking out. He hadn’t considered—hadn’t even thought about what might happen to him. Losing his position, perhaps; being banned from court, maybe—but execution? No. That had never entered his mind.

Hiromasa forced himself to his feet and paced around the room. How had things gone so wrong so fast? And Seimei... Hiromasa recalled the anger in Seimei’s eyes when he’d tipped out the poisoned food. Surely Seimei didn’t believe he’d committed such an atrocious act? Maybe he did. Maybe that was why he hadn’t come here to offer his support. But the Secretary Controller had said that Seimei was with Former Emperor Yozei, so he couldn’t come even if he wanted to... Hiromasa groaned, torn by confusion and misery.

Footsteps sounded in the corridor outside. Hiromasa turned, hope blossoming, but instead of Seimei he saw Lord Tonaga. Uncertainty kept Hiromasa rooted to the spot, and for a moment they stared at one another in silence.

Tonaga pressed close to the lattice, his eyes glittering in an otherwise expressionless face. “The very first day you called at my estate, I told you to leave the city. I told you to go back to whatever miserable province spawned you. You should have listened.”

Hiromasa went towards him. “Why are you doing this?”

“My poor, foolish cousin. You’re as naive and spineless as your father.” Tonaga’s mouth twisted. “Revenge drives men to desperate lengths. With your background, I thought you’d understand. I thought you’d know what it’s like to hate the person who blighted your family. I thought that you’d want to avenge your father’s exile, but instead you smiled and laughed and acted as if the past had no bearing on your future!”

“I don’t understand.” Hiromasa held out his hands. “Cousin, please. What did I do to anger you? Why would you wish to harm me? I am no threat to you. This is all a big misunderstanding. Only tell me what I must do to put things right, and—”

Tonaga laughed. The sound emerged cracked, slid into a sob. “It’s not about you.”

None of this made any sense. His pity roused by Tonaga’s unhappiness, Hiromasa tried to reach for him through the gaps in the screen. “Cousin...”

“No.” Tonaga pulled away, wiping at his eyes with his sleeve. He gave Hiromasa a look of finality. “I warned you. Why didn’t you listen?”

Hiromasa stared after him as Tonaga hurried off along the corridor. The guard moved closer, no doubt curious to know what had transpired between them. Hiromasa turned his back and went to sit at his writing desk. He leaned against the wall, his thoughts in turmoil as he tried to tease meaning from Tonaga’s words. He tried not to think about the impending trial, but instead his mind was filled with the horror of the dead hawks, the slight weight of the gyrfalcon in his hands, the stink of the poisoned rabbit carcasses.

Wincing inwardly, Hiromasa closed his eyes. He thought of Seimei, longed for his presence, but this just made him more miserable. Despair seized him, and Hiromasa sank into it, letting his mind drift.

Dusk crept into the room. The guard exchanged greetings with someone, and the screen was moved to one side enough to admit a servant. “The evening rice, my lord,” the servant said, bowing, and placed a tray on the writing desk.

Hiromasa shook his head. “I’m not hungry.”

The servant hesitated. “You should eat, my lord.”

Surprised by the servant’s tone, Hiromasa looked up, but the man was ordinary, unfamiliar. Hiromasa almost scolded the servant for his presumption, but remained silent when he saw the letter folded beneath the rice bowl. “Yes,” he said. “Thank you.”

The servant bowed and withdrew. The guard moved the screen back into position and wandered off, whistling as he patrolled the aisle.

Ignoring the food and the small jug of wine, Hiromasa pulled out the letter and opened it. Something small and dark dropped into his lap, and he almost missed it, so surprised was he on seeing a blank sheet of paper. He tilted it one way and the other, held it to the light from the aisle, but saw no message. Bewildered, he put the paper aside and picked up the fallen object.

It was a lock of hair.

Hiromasa stared at it. He tickled it against his cheek and murmured at its softness. He held it beneath his nose and inhaled the familiar scent of cinnamon, sweet pine, and cloves. Seimei’s hair, the lock bound by a thin strip of ribbon. Puzzled, Hiromasa turned back to the piece of paper, but it was still blank.

He closed his fingers around the hair and held it tight. What did Seimei mean, sending him this rather than a proper message? Hiromasa sighed. A lock of hair was a love-gift. Perhaps Former Emperor Yozei’s madness prevented Seimei from sitting down and composing a letter; perhaps this was the only way he could reassure Hiromasa of his devotion. It seemed an odd thing to do, but nevertheless Hiromasa felt comforted.

He lay down on the sleeping mat, still holding the lock of hair. Perhaps, if he was lucky, it would bring him dreams of Seimei.


	11. Chapter 11

The court assembled in front of the Shishinden, taking up their positions around the Orange Tree of the Right and the Cherry Tree of the Left. Behind the curtain of state sat the Emperor, and beside him on either side knelt the Great Ministers. Senior nobles lined the lower steps and sat on rugs placed on the ground. Every member of the Bureau of Divination waited, solemn-faced and bristling with paper spells, along the gallery of the Chamberlain’s Office. Ranged around the courtyard were the palace guards, while the imperial falconers crouched on their knees in the white gravel.

Former Emperor Yozei sat hunched in a heap some distance from the Emperor’s curtain of state. His hair matted and his gaze vacant, Yozei looked lost, nothing more than the husk of a cicada shell. Hiromasa stared at Yozei, momentarily more concerned for the old man than he was about his own fate.

The Emperor’s surviving hawks sat on their perches, silent witnesses at the trial. Hiromasa studied their dull plumage and hoped that the birds would make a full recovery. With all the falconers under arrest, he wondered who had fed and cared for them overnight. Perhaps Kiyomi had been permitted to tend them. After all, the Emperor would not want to lose every bird in his mews, and the Senior Captain was the most experienced handler.

Hiromasa’s gaze moved on. He saw Seimei seated in the shadow of the Chamberlain’s Office, his back to one of the pillars supporting the gallery roof. Seimei’s expression was peaceful; he appeared unconcerned by the anxiety that gripped the rest of the court. Hiromasa wished Seimei were a little closer, so they could see one another properly. Slipping a hand inside his court cloak, Hiromasa brushed his fingers against the lock of hair. At least he had that small comfort.

The Minister of Justice walked out onto the gravel, bowed to the Emperor, and launched into a long, flowery speech that did nothing more than flatter the Minister of the Right for his actions in rounding up the imperial falconers. Hiromasa wondered if all legal matters began this way. A quick glance at his colleagues showed them to be in various stages of fright, resignation, or bewilderment. He tried to see what Seimei was doing on the other side of the courtyard, but one of the yin yang masters moved and blocked his view.

The speech droned on. The Minister of the Left looked politely bored. The Minister of the Right smiled and nodded. The Emperor remained still behind his curtain. Hiromasa fidgeted, the gravel shifting beneath his knees.

A screech rang out. Everyone turned to stare at the line of birds. The male goshawk, the Emperor’s favourite, had half lifted its wings. Its golden eyes glittered and its beak gaped. Its feathers rustled. It screeched again, louder this time, and hurled itself upwards. The bells jangled on the scarlet jesses, and the creance unravelled from its loop before reaching its full length with a snap. The goshawk screamed at having its flight checked, and it spun back to the perch, beating its wings at its jesses, trying to savage the creance. It fought and struggled, its cries rising higher, becoming piteous.

The Minister of Justice fell silent. Two guards ran forward and attempted to calm the hawk, but the bird slashed at them with its beak, struck at them with its talons, shrieking in fury. Several yin yang masters hurried across the courtyard, waving spells and chanting, but the goshawk continued to scream and fight.

The court muttered to one another. The Emperor moved behind his curtain, exchanging words with the Great Ministers. Hiromasa half rose to go to the bird, but sank back to his knees when a guard behind him shoved him down.

Senior Captain Kiyomi stood up. Pitching his words above the din of conversation and the goshawk’s cries, he said, “The only thing that will calm His Majesty’s birds is the sound of Lord Hiromasa’s flute. Please allow Lord Hiromasa to play.”

The Minister of the Right protested, but then the Emperor spoke up. “Hiromasa’s flute-playing has been most efficacious before. He may approach the bird. If, as His Excellency of the Right fears, the flute contains magic, then I trust the members of the Bureau of Divination will take the appropriate measures.”

Hiromasa was helped to his feet. He took a deep breath, his nerves tight, his heart racing. This was his chance to prove to the Emperor that he hadn’t harmed the imperial birds. He had enough presence of mind to remember to bow before he went towards the hawks. A few of the other birds were restless, disturbed by the goshawk’s distress. He murmured soothing words to them as he passed, then took out Ha Futatsu.

The goshawk was on the gravel, hunched down, its head low and its beak open. It weaved in a threatening motion. Hiromasa knelt a short distance away and played a gentle melody before starting on the tune the goshawk had always seemed to enjoy most. The bird made a short chuckling sound and folded its wings. It stood straight and wandered in a half circle around Hiromasa, its head cocked.

Hiromasa continued to play. The goshawk stared, then it took off from the ground and flew right at him. He didn’t flinch, didn’t falter in his tune. He felt the breeze of the bird’s flight against his forehead, felt the slight wobble of his court cap where the goshawk’s tail brushed it. Still on his knees, still playing, he turned and looked up at the perch. The goshawk sat proud and quiet, golden eyes shining.

Careful not to make any sudden movements, Hiromasa slowly got to his feet. He let the last note of the song linger, then curled his fingers around the flute. The goshawk watched him. Hiromasa tucked Ha Futatsu back inside his cloak. He touched the lock of hair—and he remembered.

His breath caught. The goshawk tilted its head and blinked. Hiromasa was filled with a wild hope as Seimei’s words to him all those weeks ago came back to echo in his mind: _Hair has a powerful magic... It can bind someone to something, sharing the essence of that person..._

Without further thought, Hiromasa pulled a strand of Seimei’s hair from the lock and wrapped it several times around the goshawk’s leg. The bird permitted it, even lowering its head to butt against Hiromasa’s hand in an affectionate gesture. He stroked the hawk, admiring its fierce golden eyes. A guard came over, gave the bird a cursory glance to be sure it was still tied to its creance, then escorted Hiromasa back to join the imperial falconers.

Fresh murmurs went around the courtyard. Hiromasa resumed kneeling in the gravel, his thoughts tumbling like pebbles in a mountain stream. He dared not look at Seimei. What if he’d misunderstood? What could happen even if Seimei’s magic did transfer to the bird? He couldn’t rely on anything. He had to defend himself first.

The Minister of Justice resumed, hurrying through the remainder of his speech and calling on the Major Controller of War to present the facts of the case.

Hiromasa looked up in confused dread as Lord Tonaga came forward, dressed in his most elegant robes beneath the plain black dress cloak. He looked every inch the perfect courtier, and Hiromasa miserably compared his own grimy and torn silks to his cousin’s exquisite outfit.

Tonaga paced along the line of kneeling falconers until he stood in front of Hiromasa. “Your Majesty, Your Excellencies, my fellow nobles,” Tonaga began, “this is a very simple case with inarguable facts. According to members of the Bureau of Divination, His Majesty’s hawks were killed by means of a poison spread inside their feed jars. These jars are very distinctive, made of red lacquer. All the other jars and buckets used in the imperial mews are plain wood. When questioned, all the falconers identified the owner of the red lacquered jars as Minamoto no Hiromasa.”

Hiromasa met his cousin’s stare. “You gave me the jars. You gave them to me as a gift.”

Tonaga laughed. He spread his arms and turned from side to side, still laughing, as if inviting the rest of the court to enjoy the joke. “I most certainly did not.”

“You did. You’re lying if you deny it. You gave me the jars not long after I was appointed to the imperial mews.” Hiromasa kept his voice steady. “You also advised me on the best places to buy livestock with which to feed His Majesty’s hawks.”

“I admit I have some influence with certain city merchants, and I thought it would be helpful for your career for me to share that information with you,” Tonaga said, looking magnanimous, “but—” and now his expression changed, became hard, “I did not give you the jars.”

Hiromasa spoke through gritted teeth. “You did.”

Tonaga sighed. “Well, then—if I did give you the jars, there must be someone who saw the exchange. One of your colleagues, perhaps, or an acquaintance, or maybe a member of my own family.”

“No.” Heart sinking, Hiromasa recalled the day Tonaga had given him the jars. They’d been in an ox-cart, sheltered from the rest of the world. The jars had been stacked inside a plain bag. No one had seen him and Tonaga together with the jars or the bag, and when he’d taken the jars into the mews, his colleagues had been busy with their tasks and hadn’t remarked on them until much later—and by that time Hiromasa simply said the jars had been a gift.

“What was that?” Tonaga cocked his head. “What did you say?”

“I said no.” Hiromasa tried to force the defeat from his tone. “There were no witnesses. But you did give me the jars, I swear it!”

Tonaga sniffed. “Your father was a traitor, easily swayed into acting on behalf of another, more dangerous man. It seems you’ve inherited this unfortunate tendency. My short acquaintance with you has proved that you lack more than rudimentary intelligence, therefore you must have been acting on orders from someone else. Someone powerful. Someone like... His Eminence the Former Emperor Yozei.”

This dramatic flourish earned gasps and muttered speculation from the assembled courtiers. Hiromasa gave a cracked laugh. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Why?” Tonaga spun back, glaring at him. “Everyone knows you had special instructions to care for His Eminence’s hawks.” He turned, singling out Kiyomi. “Senior Captain Kiyomi, isn’t this true?”

Kiyomi looked miserable, uncomfortable. He shot Hiromasa an apologetic look. “It’s true that His Eminence requested Lord Hiromasa as his personal falconer. He did so after he’d heard that Lord Hiromasa was caring for His Majesty’s favourite birds.”

Tonaga nodded. “And isn’t it also true that once His Eminence had appointed Hiromasa as his personal falconer, no one else was permitted into Yozei’s mews?”

“That’s true.”

“So,” said Tonaga, eyes gleaming, “Hiromasa could have stirred His Eminence’s hawks into a frenzy, driving them into that horrific bloodlust they exhibited yesterday?”

“I—I don’t think...” Kiyomi flicked another glance at Hiromasa.

“Answer the question, captain.” Tonaga’s voice was like steel.

Kiyomi lowered his head. “Yes. It’s possible.”

Hiromasa jerked up onto his feet, only to be shoved down again by his guard. “How could I have done that when I was with the Senior Captain the whole time?”

Tonaga waved away the protest. “It would be easy enough for you to have trained His Eminence’s hawks to work themselves into a frenzy with a simple command—a word or a particular type of whistle, for example, or a certain tune played on the flute.”

Hiromasa stared at Kiyomi. “This is impossible. You know I didn’t do it.”

Face red with shame, the Senior Captain refused to meet his gaze. The other falconers and even some of the guards looked embarrassed.

Angry and desperate, Hiromasa appealed to the crowd at large. “This is ridiculous. Why would I do any of this? What would I gain from it?”

Scorn oozing from every word, Tonaga snapped, “This is not about you, Hiromasa. It’s about your master, the one who ordered you to do his bidding. The man who arranged it all and tried to make you take the blame for his loathsome actions—Former Emperor Yozei!”

The courtiers rustled and bent towards one another like grass in a breeze. The Emperor made an agitated movement behind his curtain of state, and the Great Ministers leaned together and exchanged words. At the far end of the veranda, Yozei, looking small and frightened, did no more than twitch in response to the accusation, his expression still vacant and haunted.

“His Eminence is innocent,” Hiromasa cried. “No matter what his crimes before, he didn’t do this. He loves his hawks. Why would he risk their lives in such a venture? His birds could have ingested the poison from His Majesty’s birds. He wouldn’t put them in danger like that. Whoever did this doesn’t care about the hawks at all!”

Silence rang around the courtyard. Tonaga stared down at Hiromasa, expression unreadable. Hiromasa met his glare without fear, but trembled inwardly. After a long moment, Tonaga swung around, dismissing Hiromasa’s argument without addressing it. He faced the Emperor. “Your Majesty, it is my belief that His Eminence the Former Emperor Yozei implemented this evil plot to weaken the power of the throne. He used my poor, simple-minded cousin to strike a blow at you. He—”

A loud shriek interrupted Tonaga’s speech. The goshawk spread its wings and took off, throwing itself skywards. This time, the creance dropped to the ground with the jesses, the bells jingling as they rolled across the gravel. The hawk was free.

The court went into uproar. Hiromasa’s guard exclaimed over and over that the bird had been tied, that Hiromasa had not tampered with it. Kiyomi jumped up and whistled, calling the hawk, but it ignored him, climbing higher into the sky. It levelled out and circled, shrieking down at the crowded courtyard.

Then it dived, fast, heavy, dropping out of the heavens. At the last moment it caught itself, tail spreading, wings opening wide, and it swung up, talons outstretched, and slashed its claws across Tonaga’s face. It curved in on itself, bringing its beak down, shrieking in rage.

Tonaga uttered a high, thin scream and toppled backward. He tried to shield his face with his arms, but the goshawk wheeled about and came back, tearing at Tonaga’s cap, ripping out his hair. Guards sprang forward, waving their arms in an attempt to drive the bird away, but it was relentless, attacking again and again while Tonaga begged and wept beneath its vicious talons.

“Hawk!”

Yanking at his curtain of state, the Emperor stepped out onto the veranda. The Great Ministers exclaimed and tried to prevent him from going any further, but he pushed them aside and held out his arm in command.

The goshawk halted its swoops and used Tonaga to launch itself into the air. It glided across the courtyard and landed on the Emperor’s wrist, tame and docile. It sat quietly, accepting the Emperor’s caress to its head and wings. His Majesty looked into the bird’s golden eyes. “Hawk,” he said, “who killed your brothers and sisters?”

The bird uttered a shrill cry and reared back. It flapped its wings and flew straight at Tonaga.

This accusation seemed to be enough for the Emperor. He pointed at the nobleman cowering beneath the fresh onslaught of talons and beak and wings, and cried, “Arrest Fujiwara no Tonaga!”

Shock rippled around the courtyard. Two guards hurried forward, their movements cautious as they approached Tonaga and the goshawk, but as they drew close, the bird gave a cry and took off again, circling low until it flew towards Hiromasa.

Startled, he held out his arm in response. The goshawk back-winged onto his wrist then sidled further up his arm, making low clucking sounds. It hopped up onto his shoulder as if it was a much smaller bird, and then it hunched down, feathers brushing Hiromasa’s cheek. It balanced there, talons sharp through the layers of silk but not pressing into his skin. The scent of dust and straw reached him, along with the faint but unmistakeable fragrance of cinnamon, sweet pine, and cloves.

Hiromasa looked across at the ranks of yin yang masters. Seimei appeared to be asleep, leaning against the pillar of the Chamberlain’s Office. Was it possible...? Hiromasa glanced down at the strand of hair still wrapped around the goshawk’s foot. He tugged at the hair, loosening it as he stood. The bird rocked heavily but didn’t move from his shoulder, allowing Hiromasa to unravel the strand of hair from its leg before he transferred the hawk back onto its perch.

On the gallery, Seimei blinked awake and stretched, looking around with interest.

Hiromasa gazed at him in awe.

Tonaga struggled against the guards as he tried to rise to his feet, protesting his innocence in a loud and increasingly desperate voice. Blood dripped from his face and ran down his neck, spattering his expensive silks. His hair hung over his shoulders, and his robes stank of fear and urine. The Minister of the Left seemed unimpressed. The Minister of the Right looked embarrassed. Several of Tonaga’s cronies appealed to the Emperor, declaring their belief that Tonaga was the victim in this affair.

The Emperor made a gesture, silencing everyone. He returned to his chair and sat down, then cast an irritated look around the courtyard. “This business is clouded by pollution and obscured by lies. It seems I can only believe my beloved hawk. A pity he cannot speak, for then we would have the truth of this matter.”

“Lord Tonaga can give you the truth.” Seimei stood and made his way down from the gallery, the white of his under-robes flashing in the sunlight beneath the inky blue-black of his court dress. He looked down at Tonaga, studied the raking marks of the goshawk’s claws. “And if Lord Tonaga won’t speak, I will.”

“We will listen,” the Emperor said. “Continue.”

Seimei strolled in a half circle around Tonaga, the train of his robes dragging across the gravel. “What transpired yesterday had its roots in the events of fifty years ago. Events in which His Eminence the Former Emperor Yozei played a part—along with the Lady of Tables Fujiwara no Seishi... Lord Tonaga’s grandmother.”

Hiromasa stared at his cousin and saw grief twist his face, but Tonaga said nothing.

“His Eminence’s madness is known to all,” Seimei continued, “but few know the extent of his deeds. He doesn’t know it himself. But for those of us close to him and those of us who suffer from his past actions, we know some of it. We may even understand it a little. But not all of us forgive.”

“How could I?” Tonaga lifted his head, misery brimming in his eyes, his mouth working with rage. “How could anyone forgive what he did? How can it be ignored—forgotten?”

Seimei crouched beside him, features radiant with compassion. “Former Emperor Yozei killed your grandmother when he was twenty years old. He strangled her with a string from a biwa and threw her body into the lake.”

A murmur of comment hushed through the assembled courtiers. Hiromasa glanced at Yozei and saw nothing on his face; not a single flicker of recognition or remorse, just utter blankness.

“His Eminence had been deposed five years before,” Seimei said, his tone gentle though his voice carried to all corners of the courtyard. “His madness was deemed too dangerous, too polluting, for him to remain as Emperor. He lived quietly in seclusion, then returned to the palace. There his madness began again. Lady Seishi was but one of several men and women killed by His Eminence during his fits.”

Tonaga was weeping openly now, his shoulders shaking and his head bowed.

Seimei rose to his feet and stared around at the nobles. “One cannot kill an Emperor, no matter what his crime. The only revenge against such an exalted personage is to wish him ill, and yet His Eminence is with us here today at the age of seventy-four, having outlived three imperial successors.”

He paused, gestured at Tonaga. “For Lord Tonaga, perhaps for others, this is an insult. Lord Tonaga wanted His Eminence punished—but the only way this would ever happen would be if His Eminence attacked His Majesty. Former Emperor Yozei is not strong enough to do it physically or politically, but the attack can be made spiritually, by means of pollution, through the imperial hawks.”

Seimei turned back to Tonaga, addressing him directly. “Your father was too afraid of reprisals to even consider revenge, but you—you didn’t want to be that weak. Your father’s cowardice spurred you on, and yet you never had the courage to take action, and for years your anger has been festering... until now. Until you saw the chance to use your own cousin to be the unsuspecting agent of your revenge.”

Hiromasa drew in a breath, not knowing which was greater—pity or disgust.

Tonaga shook his head, dashing at his tears with his sleeves. He sat back on his heels and tried to deny everything.

Seimei stared down at him. “You scorned Lord Hiromasa when he first called on you. What possible use could he have, a provincial with breeding but no connections, the son of a disgraced former prince, a man so out of touch with the world of the good people that he didn’t even hold rank! You didn’t want anything to do with him—but then you changed your mind. You saw him at court dressed in rich clothes in the company of noblemen like the Secretary Controller, and you thought he could be useful after all.”

He took a step closer, his gaze burning and his voice tight. “You knew Lord Hiromasa’s bloodline and charm would be enough for him to make his name at court. Once he’d renewed his father’s old acquaintances, he would have no need to rely on you. So you made arrangements—the position as falconer, the poisoned jars—knowing that Hiromasa was more than capable of doing the rest quite unwittingly. All you had to do was wait. It was almost the perfect plan... except you underestimated something.”

Tonaga half laughed, half snarled. “You. I underestimated you.”

“Not me.” Seimei tilted his head and lifted a hand. Behind him, the goshawk flapped from its perch and came to him, landing on Seimei’s wrist. “You underestimated the hawks.” Their eyes shone gold, both bird and man. “They understand neither revenge nor forgiveness. They only understand threat and weakness—and they react accordingly.”

He let go of the bird and the goshawk dived at Tonaga, making him cringe to the ground in terror. The goshawk uttered a contemptuous cry and passed over him, angling its wings so it flew in a lazy turn back to its perch.

Hiromasa stared at Tonaga. “Is it true? All this time, you were just using me?”

Tonaga struggled to sit up, his face red with fury. “A country cousin, good for nothing—of course you were expendable!” He scrambled to his feet, pushing aside his guards, and pointed a shaking finger at Hiromasa. “No matter how high you climb at court, you’ll always be a provincial. You’ll always be a nobody!”

Hiromasa dropped his gaze, hot tears starting in his eyes. He didn’t think they were for himself. He wept from frustration, for the shattering of an illusion, and he wept for Tonaga’s grandmother Lady Seishi.

Seimei came close and put a hand on his shoulder. Hiromasa leaned against him, hiding his tears in the soft, silken blue-black cloak.

The Emperor stood, his expression implacable. “We have heard enough. In this matter, Former Emperor Yozei is innocent. However, we have concerns that he could be used as a pawn again. Therefore, for his own safety and for the safety of this throne, he will take up residence outside the capital in a place to be determined by the Bureau of Divination as most suitable for His Eminence’s condition.”

Yozei didn’t react.

“As for Fujiwara no Tonaga...” The Emperor considered for a moment, his features growing darker. “He has committed treason twice over—once against this throne and once against Former Emperor Yozei. His life is forfeit and his lands become ours. Tonaga’s immediate family shall be exiled. His estate in the capital we give to Lord Hiromasa in recompense for his troubles.”

Tonaga swayed on his feet, ashen-faced. “Your Majesty!”

“Tonaga will be executed tomorrow in West Market.” The Emperor stepped back behind his curtain of state and drew it across in a gesture of finality. “See it done.”


	12. Chapter 12

The sun had set and evening stole on, bringing with it a gentle breeze and the scent of wisteria. Hiromasa lay on a sleeping mat, the quilt of their robes crumpled around him and his hakama unfastened. The taste of wine and Seimei’s skin still lingered on his tongue, and from across the garden came the distant music of a koto. A sense of peace filled him, but it was tinged with sadness.

Seimei sat beside him, hair tumbling black and unbound down his back. He wore nothing more than a white glossed undershirt, his bare legs half covered by their discarded robes. He looked at Hiromasa with quiet sympathy.

Hiromasa struggled to give voice to his feelings. Nothing seemed adequate, and so he fastened on a foolish fear that was no less important. “Has the Bureau of Divination selected the place for His Eminence’s new residence?”

“It was decided to return him to the village where he was confined after he was removed from the throne. He will be safe enough there—the location is tranquil.”

“Will you have to—I mean, is it very far away?”

Seimei smiled a little. “Not far at all. Close enough for me to visit him as usual but far enough for the court to forget. I won’t be leaving the capital, if that’s what you were asking.”

“Good,” said Hiromasa. “Because I would have gone with you.”

“Would you? Could you have given up on your dream?”

“My mother’s dream,” Hiromasa corrected him. “Yes, I could. Maybe at heart I am nothing more than a provincial, after all. I don’t wish to sound ungrateful—I enjoy court life, I really do, but...” He trailed off into silence.

Seimei seemed to understand. “Justice was served.”

Hiromasa made a face, uncertain. “It was a harsh sentence.”

“Former Emperor Yozei is an emperor,” Seimei said, his tone mild. “Tonaga was merely a court noble. The punishment was appropriate.”

“Tonaga was only trying to find justice for his grandmother.”

“By implicating you, his cousin,” Seimei reminded him.

Hiromasa turned onto his side with a sigh. “I’m not going to blame him for his actions. I’m not condoning them, either. I just... I feel sorry for him. For what he felt he had to do for the sake of his family honour. For his grandmother’s memory. How can I blame him for that?”

Seimei gave him an affectionate smile. “Truly, you are a very good man.”

“Am I?” Hiromasa nudged closer and rested his head in Seimei’s lap. “You said the capital hadn’t contaminated me. You said I was free of all its greed and ambition. Is that still true?”

Seimei placed a hand over Hiromasa’s forehead and stroked back his hair. “Now more than ever.”

It wasn’t the answer he’d feared, and Hiromasa huffed a little with relief, wriggled around until he lay more comfortably draped over Seimei. He remained unmoving for a while, listening to the shikigami’s music, absorbing the warmth of Seimei’s body, just drowsing as he let his thoughts drift.

“Seimei.”

“Mm?”

Hiromasa rolled onto his back and looked up, frowning. “I don’t want Tonaga’s estate. It’s so big and empty and full of dark corners.”

Seimei arched his eyebrows. “Is that so? That’s easily remedied. Willow and her sisters would be happy to accompany you. I shall ask for the assistance of as many shikigami as you please to brighten the house.”

Hiromasa shook his head. “I don’t want your shikigami.”

Seimei stroked a finger over Hiromasa’s cheek. “Then what do you want?”

“I want to stay here with you.” A pause, and then Hiromasa looked up and met Seimei’s gaze, wondering, hoping. “If it’s permitted.”

“Permitted?” Seimei leaned over, his hair cascading around them. “Yes,” he said, and the word was soft with joy. “Yes.”


End file.
